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THE HISTORY 



OF 



COMPANY B, 311th INFANTRY 



IN THE 



WORLD WAR. 




Capt. (^olonirn and lit. l^nill<os at Camp I^ix, lOlS. 



THE HISTORY 

OF 

COMPANY B, 311th INFANTRY 

IN THE 

WORLD WAR. 



lUTA. Colonna 

with contributions by David Gardenier, Charles Peter, 

and Tracy S. White. 

Statistics compiled by Bert W. Stiles. 



FREEHOLD. N. J. 
TRANSCRIPT PRINTING HOUSE, 

1922 



IDs'no 

.33 

3 W^ 



COPYRIGHT, 1922, ' 
BY B. A. COLONNA AND B. W. STILES. 



0)C1.A674051 
U\ \ I /S22 



INDEX 



Introduction ..... 

Ctiapter I — Madison Barracks 

Chapter II — Camp Dix 

Ctiapter III — The Cruise of the "NESTOR" 

Chapter IV — The English Sector 

Chapter V — The American Sector 

Chapter VI — St. Mihiel and Limey Sector 

Chapter VII — Meuse-Argonne 

Chapter VIII — Flavigny-sur-Ozerain 

Chapter IX — Homeward Bound 

Alphabetical Roster of Officers 

Alphabetical Roster of Enlisted Men 

Classified Rosters 

Number of Officers and Men by States 

Lists of Casualties 

Decorations .... 

Extracts from General Orders No. 6 



Page 

5 

6 

7 

11 

IG 

32 

40 

67 

74 

76 

81 

83 

108 

111 

112 

114 

115 



INTRODUCTION 



You, my comrades of the past two years, for whom this history is written, 
know that I have but small gift of expression at any time, and least of all for 
the things closest to my heart. At your request, however, made when we parted 
for the last time, I am writing the story of our company. I shall do my best to 
put down everything as it occurred, so far as my knowledge and memory will 
serve; and I trust that if the matter is true, you will overlook crudeness in 
the form. 

"Company B, 311th Infantry" — Only a letter and a number? Only one 
company out of the hundreds in the National Army? Yes, to outsiders; but to 
me, and I trust and believe to you. Company B was a living and vital being, 
composed of part of what was best in each of us. Its official life was twenty 
months; in that time it was born, grew to full strength, was trained, travelled 
some 7 500 miles, fulfilled its destiny — fought, suffered, lost; and finally re- 
turned to its birthplace and was mustered out. But the spirit of B Company is 
still with each of us, and not a man but has carried away more than he gave. 

Relatively, B Company was a very small part of the army. But to us, it 
was the army; just as we shall always think of the war in terms of St. Mihiel 
and the Argonne. We have heard of the Marne, Ypres, Verdun, Chateau 
Thierry; but every man sees the war through his own eyes. 

For this reason, I am writing in the first person. The best I can do is to 
relate things as I saw them so I shall not take refuge behind an artificial 
impersonality. Probably a good many things were pulled off that I did not 
know anything about. And then you may discover that I knew more about 
some little matters than you thought I did. 



CHAPTER I 
MADISON BARRACILS 



On May 5, 1917, I reported for duty at the Officers' Training Camp at 
Madison Barracks, New York, with a commission as Second Lieutenant of 
Infantrj- in the Reserve Corps. My call to active duty had cut short my law 
course at Columbia Universitj- two months before I was to take my degree. 

Having graduated three years before from the Virginia Military Institute, 
and served there a year as sub-professor of German and tactics, I had some 
idea of the fundamental principles of military training; but, like almost all the 
other reserve officers, army paper work and administration was a closed book 
to me. 

A few days later I was told off to report to Capt. Haynes Odom, U. S. R., 
commanding Co. 5 of the 2d Provisional Training Regt. Capt. Odom was 
already conspicuous among the batch of reserve officers for his efficiency and 
tireless energy and industry. The tall, upstanding figure, with the mark of the 
regular army man indelibly stamped upon him; the head carried well back; 
the weather-worn, sun-wrinkled face, the hooked nose, cool hazel eyes; the 
smile that accompanied alike a friendly greeting or a merciless balling out; 
the soft Southern accent indescribably harshened by thousands of commands 
given — do you recognize the Major, boys? 

The three long, hot, arduous months of training at Madison Barracks can 
be passed over briefly. My cot in the long frame barrack was next to that of a 
tall, lithe, black haired lad from Rochester, X. Y., with the merriest, keenest, 
black eyes I ever saw. Before a week went by he stood out above the average 
candidate. He was young, just twenty-one — I was at the venerable 
age of twenty-two. But he had the keenest, quickest, practical mind I have 
ever met, and the gift of natural leadership, which is compounded of courage, 
intelligence, unselfish sympathy, and a sense of humor. He had graduated 
from Cornell in 1916. Later you knew him as 1st Lieut. Louis Sinclair 
Foulkes, the best officer in "B" Company; the best officer it was my fortune to 
come in contact with during the war. 

One of the training companies was organized as a cavalry troop. We saw 
them now and then being led in physical drill by a handsome, muscular young 
chap, so alive and vibrant with nervous energy that it was good to watch him 
work. He was Roy A. Schuyler, of Schenectady, a graduate of Union College, 
and a descendant of that General Schuyler whose record in the Revolutionary 
War makes so bright a page in American history. Brilliant, impulsive, gener- 
ous, full of the joj' of life, passionately eager to serve; he was a worthy des- 
cendant of a long line of fighting patriots. 

In Co. 9 was an earnest, dignified, hard working reserve first lieutenant, 
one of the most capable of the reserve officers on the post. He was a prominent 
lawyer of Utica, N. Y., and one of the leaders in the Plattsburg movement. 
Though well over the draft age, he had given up his large practice and had 



IN THE WORLD WAR 



gone into the service at the first call. This was Russell H. Brennan, the first 
commander of "B" Company. 

At last our course drew to a close; the commissions were announced, and 
we departed for ten days' leave before reporting to Camp Dix for duty. Will 
we ever forget those ten. golden August days? The world was ours, and life 
was sweet. No one knew what lay ahead, but we all made the most of our 
last taste of the old life for some time. 



CHAPTER II 
CA3IP DIX 



Most of you saw it for the first time when you rolled into the long train 
shed, and hiked up to your barracks through a mile or more of company streets, 
in a city of forty thousand men, the hundreds of large barracks already 
weatherbeaten with the snows and rains of winter. 

We, however, after changing trains several times, finally rolled up to what 
was apparently a piano box in a lumber yard, and were there assured by the 
conductor that this was Camp Dix. We tumbled off, and trudged away through 
six inches of New Jersey dust toward the only building in sight with a roof on 
it — camp headquarters. Our bags became heavier and heavier; our new 
uniforms were fearfully hot; our new shoes and puttees, with which we had 
been dazzling admiring womenfolks and causing menfolk to grunt with assumed 
indifference, were abominably tight and pinchy. 

Finally we straggled in to headquarters, to indulge for a couple of hours 
in that amusement so familiar to every man in the army^ — standing in line for 
an hour to do two minutes of red tape. When our turn was over, we went over 
to a partially completed barracks, where we were each allowed to appropriate 
1 cot, iron. This was the limit of our accommodation — those who couldn't get 
away to some nearby town slept on the soft side of a piece of bristol board. 
We walked to the other side of camp for all our meals — about two miles, if 
you didn't lose your way. 

The next morning we attended a rollcall at 9 A. M. There we met Col. 
Marcus B. Stokes, the commanding officer; and Lt. Col. Edgar Myer, 
second in command. We found that the officers from Madison 

Barracks, Cos. 5 and 6, with half of the Troop formed the nucleus of the new 
regiment. 

Capt. Odom was Regimental Adjutant and o my horror I was at once 
made Regimental Supply Officer. The following officers were assigned to "B" 
company: 

Capt. Russell H. Brennan, commanding company, 

2d Lt. Roy A. Schuyler, 

2d Lt. Fred S. Fish, 

2d Lt. Wm. D. Ashmore. 

For a month the regiment went through the agonies of organization. 
Supplies came in by driblets; transportation there was none, save for two hope- 
lessly over-worked motor truck companies, which put in half their time trying 



COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 



to separate their trucks from the sacred soil of Jersey. A great swarm of 
civilian workmen were toiling feverishly to get up the barracks. The regiment 
was moved four times in as many weeks. The roads were six inches deep in 
mud or dust. 

The first enlisted men in the regiment were three former candidates at 
Madison Barracks, who, through no fault of their own, had not received com- 
missions, but who wouldn't leave the bunch, and enlisted in the regiment,^ — 
Dave Gardenier, Art McCann, and Jimmie Hooker. McCann and Gardenier 
were made regimental sergeants major, and Hooker was my regimental supply 
sergeant. 

In about a week a number of men came in from various Regular Army 
regiments, to form a nucleus of N. C. O.'s. "B" company received Ertwine, 
Robbins, and J. M. Newell. These men were shortly afterward made corporals 
on recommendation of Capt. Brennan. 

From Sept. 19th to Sept. 22d, the men of the first draft came in. As 
Supply Officer, my own troubles kept me pretty busy during those strenuous 
days. I knew "B" company, however, as a good outfit. Capt. Brennan's steady, 
methodical, tireless work, and the energy and devotion of his three lieutenants 
showed results from the first. Lt. Fish, a former National Guard officer, was 
an old hand and steadied the younger oflicers. 

After two months of hard work, the companies began to round out into 
some sort of shape. The non-commissioned officers were selected, with as much 
care as was possible in the limited time allowed for observation of the new 
men. The first top sergeant of "B" Co. was Eilert, a sturdy and sterling 
product of the first draft, who had been a foreman in a large factory. The 
"top" is, absolutely, the most essential man in a company. His position is such 
that he has to see to the carrying out of all the disagreeable orders, and making 
the details for all the dirty jobs, while at the same time he is not protected by 
any barrier of rank. He is usually cordially detested and thoroughly respected 
by the men, and is about as useful to the officers as a right hand. We never 
had a top in "B" Co. who was not absolutelj^ loyal to the service and to the 
company commander; never one who shrank from the most disagreeable duty, 
nor who gave a thought to his personal popularity. They were human, of 
course, and made mistakes like the rest of us; and sometimes they couldn't 
help being placed in a bad light to the men. But you men — some of you, even, 
who beefed most against the tops — if you only knew how many times that same 
top came to the company commander or other oflicers to help out this fellow 
or that, to suggest some way of making things easier for the whole company; 
if you knew how hard and thankless a job they held; possibly you would have 
been a little more lenient in your judgments. 

James McC. Newell was the first supply sergeant, and got away with 
everything not nailed down. Samuel Tritapoe was Mess Sgt. until Lt. Wagner 
recognized his ability and took him for a regimental supply sergeant, and 
Warren Sculthorpe succeeded to this thankless but highly important job. The 
other sergeants, as well as I remember, were Ertwine, Perry, Anness and Rob- 
bins. Joe Levy was soon drafted by Newell to make the accounts balance; 
Harold Sculthorpe started on his culinary career; Sweeney, Rogers, Tom Vira- 
cola, Howard Lehy, Hayden and Long Bill Reid were corporals. Sutton 



IN THE WORLD WAR 



and Weber were detailed at the regimental exchange where they 
were a great factor in making it the best in the division. And last, but not 
least, deBruin was man of all work and plumber-in-chief. Red Sheridan also 
started his lurid career with "B" Co., and helped deBruin and "Bugs" Wardell 
io dispose of the vanilla extract rations. 

Toward the middle of October, Lt. Foulkes arrived from Cambridge, Mass., 
where he had been sent for a special course in trench warfare. He was assigned 
to B Co., and remained as second in command until he was made battalion 
adjutant in July 1918. 

Now started in the era of transfers. New drafts were constantly coming 
in; and as soon as we would get them uniformed and able to negotiate a 
"Squads Right" without losing each other, they would be drawn away to fill 
up some other division destined for overseas duty before the 78th. Not once, 
but a dozen times between September and May did this happen, leaving the 
company with its oflBcers and a skeleton of N. C. O.'s, cooks and orderlies. 

On December 6th, Capt. Brennan and I were interchanged, he taking over 
the Supply Company and I, "B" Co. 

The winter wore on, and spring was upon us, and we seemed no nearer 
France than before. Changes took place in officers as well as enlisted men. 
Lt. Ashmore went to "A" Co.; Lt. Fish to the Supply Co.; 2d Lts. Dunn and 
Merrill and 1st Lt. Vanderbilt took their places with "B" Co. The time was 
tilled with training and equipping the ever changing quotas of recruits and 
drilling them in fundamentals; for the training cadre of officers and N. C. O.'s 
there were special courses in bayonet fighting, bombing, trench digging — how 
many cold and weary hours were swallowed up in that trench system east of 
the regimental area! — and ever and always wind, mud and show, or wind, 
sun and dust. 

When the March drafts came in, rumors took a new lease on life. The 
7 7th division was being equipped to leave Camp Upton; our turn would prob- 
ably come next. The transfers went out now to fill up, not other divisions, but 
our own artillery regiments across the parade ground. Work on the target 
range was increased. Ah, the joys of being routed out of the hay long before 
daybreak, snatching a hasty breakfast, and hiking off through the cold dawa, 
five miles through the barrens to that wind-swept waste with the long rows of 
targets. 

1st Sgt. Eilert and Supply Sgt. Newell had been selected to attend the 
officers' training school. Sgt. Ertwine, who had shown exceptional ability 
while in charge of the recruits' barracks, was made 1st Sgt., and Joe Levy, of 
course, became Supply Sgt. 

It was not all work and no play, though. At night there were movies at 
the "Y" huts; the Post Exchange for those who had something left from insur- 
ance, allotments and other ornaments of the pay roll, — or who were gifted 
enough to fill a full house or roll a "natural" consistently. And on Saturday 
afternoon and Sunday the lucky 25% would be off for a few precious hours at 
home or in the city, while the camp would be filled with visitors to the less 
fortunate. 

April passed, and May arrived with green trees and warm days. We 
bought baseball equipment, and each company had a team (I wonder who got 



10 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY. 

hold of all that stuff finally?). The April drafts had brought the companies 
above normal strength. Tents were put up in the company streets to accom- 
modate the overflow. 

These were busy days for Supply Sgt. Levy and Cpl. Jimmie Jones, Com- 
pany Clerk. There was a continuous procession in and out the door of the 
squad room where Levy had established his headquarters; recruits going in 
with blissful visions of emerging in the likeness of a magazine ad. soldier; 
departing with murder in their hearts because their trousers bagged at the 
knees. And Joe, who remembered last September when recruits would bum 
around for a month before getting a sign of a uniform, had scant sympathy 
with them. 

This was also an era of reports. Reports on how many men we had; how 
many shirts each man had; how many extra shoe-laces were in our possession; 
how many men had W. R. insurance; how many were yet to be inoculated and 
how many times. Twice a day did I have to report for officers' meeting; twice 
a day would the Colonel hold forth on the reports the general wanted, which 
company commanders would prepare at once, personally, in writing; then the 
adjutant would begin on the reports the colonel wanted; then the supply officer 
would chime in with a few more that he had to have by six o'clock at the 
latest. Life was a veritable nightmare of typewritten figures. The supply ser- 
geant of "L" company actually lost his mind under the strain. Drill was 
carried on in the intervals of lining up for another check or Inspection. And 
the men, quite naturally, looked upon the officers as a set of lunatics who didn't 
know their own minds for ten minutes at a time. 

About May 1st, an advance party of some 2 5 officers and men left the 
regiment, so we knew we were soon to follow. Lts. Schuyler and Merrill were 
in this party. They attended the A. E. F. Schools at Chatillon-sur-Seine, and 
rejoined us about July 1st. 

At last the company was filled up to war strength, and equipped down to 
the last shoe lace. On Friday, May 17th, all visitors were excluded from camp. 
That evening I assembled the company and put the proposition up to every 
man in it whether he wanted to go to France or not, offering to leave any one 
behind who wished to remain. I am proud to say that not a man applied to be 
left. 

Saturday was a hectic day of last preparations. The barracks were stripped 
down to their last mattress and swept out. The typewriters clicked busily until 
the last minute. Tom Viracola, one of our best sergeants, who had been trip- 
ped on a slight disability by the medicos at the last minute and was nearly 
heartbroken, was to be left in charge of barracks. 

About nine o'clock the company was formed for the last time at its old 
home. Packs were heavy with the regulation equipment, tobacco, and gifts 
from home. As I was signing some last papers under the arc light, "C" com- 
pany moved out silently. I gave "Squads left, march," the company wheeled 
out and we were off for the station. 

The road was lined with soldiers from the Depot Brigade as we passed. 
Here and there we saw a familiar face, and though the movement was to be 
kept as quiet as possible, there was many a husky "so long, fellows" and "good- 
bye, 311, good luck," to cheer us on our way. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 11 



Packs were heavier every step, and what with the extra rations, typewriter, 
etc., we were glad to have a half hour's rest at the station. Then the word 
came to fall in again — how many times were we to hear those weary words, 
"Fall in" — and the company filed along to the day coaches awaiting them. 
Equipment was removed, and all made themselves as comfortable as they could 
for the night. 

Early in the morning the train pulled out. As dawn broke, we made out 
the names of some of the New Jersey towns we passed through. Many a lad 
saw his home town for the last time as we rolled through it in the chill of that 
May morning. 

At Jersey City we detrained and passed through the station to the ferry. 
Several civilians asked us where we were going; but the men realized the im- 
portance of secrecy, and all the curious ones got was a gruff invitation to "put 
on a uniform and find out." 

Then we were jammed on a ferry boat. It was some jam, too, leaving 
those who hadn't been trained on the subway gasping. 

Down to the street, on between the great warehouses, and into a spacious 
covered pier. Here was the point of embarkation, where we had been told 
every service record was examined, every man inspected; the focus of all the 
red tape that had been driving us insane for the past two months. To our 
very agreeable surprise, however, the loading was handled by two or three 
business like men in civvies, who merely checked each company on the boat by 
the passenger lists as fast as the men could hike up the gangplank. 

We were met by Lt. Gibbs, battalion adjutant, who led us below, pointed 
out three decks each about the size of our Camp Dix orderly room, and an- 
nounced that these were B Co.'s palatial quarters. I gasped, and remarked 
that we were much obliged, but suppose some one should want to turn around, 
where would he be, and howinell was Geoghegan going to get in one of those 
little canvas napkins they called hammocks, anyhow? He replied that I ought 
to see "C" company's place, and melted away in a fashion peculiar to Bn. Adjts. 
when leaving Co. Cmdrs. S. O. L. A few moments later we heard him consol- 
ing Capt. O'Brien on the deck above by telling him that he ought to see "B" 
Co.'s place. 



CHAPTER III 
THE CRUISE OF THE "NESTOR" 



By the time the space and hammocks were assigned to platoons and squads, 
the ship was under way. Orders were to keep below decks until out of the 
harbor; and for many, their last look at America was a glimpse of the harbor 
front through a port hole. 

At this point Lt. Gibbs reappeared, with the cheerful order that life 
preservers would be donned at once, and kept on for the rest of the voyage. 
For the next ten days all waddled about feeling like motherly hens. The 
apparatus I drew seemed particularly dirty, and most unbecoming to my figure, 
which is built close to the ground anyway. 

Breakfast had been nothing more than a cracker and bully beef, snatched 
at odd moments. The good ship hadn't started to roll much yet, so all looked 



12 COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 

forward to dinner with a robust interest. Then it evolved that this was an 
Australian transport, the "Nestor;" and as such, sailed under the British flag; 
and hence and therefore, the next meal would te tea at 5 o'clock. Eternity 
passed, and about half an hour thereafter the steward came around, and in 
queer, clipped cockney English introduced us to "dixies" and "flats." Another 
half hour, and the first messes to be served saw their hash-grabbing detail 
returning, bearing through aisles of famished Yanks — bread and cheese and 
tea! A planked steak v/ould have been more to the point, we felt, and a tower- 
ing, raw-boned countryman in a corner, — Lory Price, I imagine — opined 
dismally that we were being mistaken for an orphan asylum. However, what 
there was aroused the boys sufficiently to take a less morbid view of life, and 
as the officers departed to the cabin, cards and books appeared, and the mystic 
words were softly chanted: "Natural, bones" — "Read 'em and weep." 

But there was not what you might call a festive air to that first evening; 
nor to many thereafter. Of course, for some fellows who had no one dependent 
on them, who were setting out foot loose for a great adventure, there was 
nothing to interfere with the thrill of the unknown before them. But the 
majority of these men had been taken out of their civilian life but two or three 
weeks before; they were among strangers, and in an absolutely foreign envi- 
ronment; their new uniforms still uncomfortable and scratchy, and army regula- 
tions and discipline an incomprehensible set of shibboleths. Far down in each 
heart the love of their country burned, steadily enough for the most part; 
white hot in some; in others, but recently kindled. All hid it diligently, of 
course, from the general view. They had been so fed up with windy orators, with 
politicians waving the flag with one hand and keeping the other on exemption 
certificates, that the real thing was jealously concealed. 

As I made my final inspection that night, looking out from the companion- 
way over the rows of close slung hammocks, I wondered what their occupants 
were thinking; what forms of dear ones were present to their minds; to what 
homes their thoughts went back — a Harlem flat, a Jersey farm house, a great 
hotel, a tiny pair of rooms in Jersey City; comfortable, well-off American homes; 
tenements in the foreign districts — each one dear for its memories, each one 
the home to fight for. Would we have time to train these men into a fighting 
machine, or would we be thrown in at once to stop the great Hun drive in 
Flanders, then at its height? How many of us would see these homes, these 
dear ones again? — But a company commander has little time to indulge in 
reflections; and thoughts of the morning report, and how to distribute the chow 
more evenly, and a large budget of orders I had to read, soon chased away 
everything else. 

The NESTOR carried the 1st and 2d Bns. and Headquarters Co. of the 
311th Inf., a Machine Gun battalion, and Brig. Gen. Dean, our brigade com- 
mander, and his staff. Our colonel was in command of the troops on board, 
such things being below the dignity of general officers. He was in his element; 
he had an officers' meeting the first thing, and dished out about 4 square acres 
of orders to be read and put into effect at once. 

Now no one knows better than I how many orders you men received, and 
how it was often beyond human power to obey all of them. But I call any 
company commander to witness that we got them coming and going. The Co. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 13 



Gmdr. is the one man who can't pass the buck on responsibility. We had to 
take the bushels of orders we received, eliminate those utterly impossible, 
select from those remaining what seemed essential and what we thought the 
Major and Colonel would deem essential, and then get those things done by 
the company — that is, issue orders to the 1st Sgt. for details. Supply Sgt. for 
supplies. Mess Sgt. for mess, officers for drill and instruction, company clerk for 
paper work, and then see to it that the whole is carried out. And then one 
usuaUy amasses a balling out for something or other that he has left out. 

One of these orders was the censorship order, of which we had heard so 
much. Instead of having all letters censored at post offices by clerks, some 
genius had decided to follow the British plan of having officers censor their 
own men's mail. Thus at one brilliant stroke a situation was created which 
embarrassed men and officers alike, imposed an irksome and continual task on 
over-burdened officers, delayed the mail, and was in every way sweet incense 
in the nostrils of the little tin gods of the red tape; the exponents of the theory 
of How Not to Do It. 

The principal morning sport on the trip was the ship's inspection. The 
holds of that old tub received such a scrubbing and cleaning as they had never 
had before. In spite of the close quarters, everything was kept quite fresh and 
clean. It gave me a vast respect for the women who do such work all day for 
paltry wages. At 10:00 A. M. the caJl would be sounded, and all except the 
day's orderlies would be massed on decks in their boat drill stations, and a 
merry little crush it was. Then the lords of the earth would solemnly parade 
along in single file, preceded by a bugler, who blew a seasick "Attention" at 
each deck. Everybody would then step on everyone else's feet, and make a 
little lane for the procession. The adjutant, the ship's captain, the colonel, 
the ship supply officer — poor old Gibbs was the goat for that job — would play 
"follow my leader," and look into corners, and sniff importantly, and every- 
thing would be very formal and terrible, and grand. 

The rest of the day would be taken up with physical drills — one company 
using the deck at a time — and fire and boat drills. It was given out at first 
that four long blasts of the boat's whistle would be the signal for "Abandon 
ship." This was changed later by the ship's captain, but somewhere along the 
line there was a hitch, and the information never got down to the company 
commanders. About five nights out, at about 10:30 P. M., the whistle began to 
toot, once — twice — heads began to appear over the hammocks; thrice — the 
hammocks began to be agitated; four times — two hundred and thirty odd 
hearts gave a leap, four hundred and sixty feet hit the floor, and B Company 
started up the gangway, with three sergeants, who shall be nameless, leading 
the way to victory. Lt. Foulkes, who was on fire watch, judged hastily that it 
must be all a mistake somehow, and calmed the riot with his .4 5 and a few 
choice remarks in the vernacular. 

Then the chow- — oh, the chow; oh, the Gawd-forsaken chow. It was 
doled out as breakfast, dinner, and tea. It was ^one too much in 
quantity. There were here and there newly made n. c. o.'s iVho were not above 
holding out more than their share. And our American stomachs were several 
times abruptly introduced to strange dishes. First it was a weird looking 
mess that tasted like an explosion of mustard gas. How did we know it was 



14 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

currie? Few had sufficient faith in human nature to down their portion. Then 
one day a ghastly odor tainted the noonday air, and we were introduced to 
tripe. The latter was finally buried with military honors, and I arrived on the 
scene just in time to save the ship's cooks from being the star actors in a 
similar ceremony. 

"Tea" was bread and cheese and tea. We thought of the days of plenty 
at Camp Dix and reflected that the culinary end of this war business was hardly 
a success so far. 

The oflicers were fed well and in civilized fashion in the cabin, which 
didn't help matters much for the men. Also some members of the boat's crew 
took advantage of the situation by running a sub-rosa restaurant in the fore- 
castle, gouging such as had the price. Of course the Americans thought right 
away that they were holding out part of our rations for this purpose, and 
international relations began to get very strained. The officers were finally 
informed, and the practice stopped. 

There were ten or twelve other ships in the convoy, which was headed by 
the battleship Montana. At last one morning the latter was missing, and we 
knew that we must be nearly across. Precautions were redoubled and life 
preservers were not removed even at night. 

On the morning of May 31st we sighted land — a welcome sight indeed. 
Capt. Breen at once identified it as dear auld Ireland, and was much disgusted 
when we learned later that it was Scotland. We had sailed around the north 
of Ireland, and were dropping down the Irish sea to Liverpool. 

This was the submarine zone indeed. Destroyers appeared from the 
horizon and hovered on the outskirts of the convoy. A great silver dirigible 
swung lazily from the clouds and floated along above us. The Irish coast came 
into view on our right. 

At about 2:00 P. M. there was a scurry among the destroyers. The 
dirigible descended above a spot some half mile off our port bow. Guns began 
to speak from the transports and destroyers. It only lasted for about five 
minutes, however, and we couldn't see any visible results. But we were told 
that a sub had been spotted and destroyed. 

Late that night we took the pilot aboard and proceeded up the Mersey. 
Few of us slept a wink. After the long strain it was good to see ourselves sur- 
rounded by the lights of shipping, and to see the shore on either side, though 
as few lights as possible were shown even then. However, we could open the 
portholes, and the long, long line of docks slipped by until we wondered if this 
great harbor had any end. At last, about 2:00 A. M., we docked and settled 
down to wait until morning for a glimpse of Merry England. 

The next day we waited around until 1:30, when we disembarked. We 
were marched about half a mile through the streets to a railroad terminal. 
The people hardly glanced at us. They were well used to soldiers by that 
time. Not a cheer, not a sign of curiosity. Another herd for the slaughter 
house. A few wounded soldiers, in their flaring "blues," looked us over with 
some professional curiosity. 

At the railroad station we were halted on a cobbled street for a weary 
three hours' wait. There was an English-American Red Cross canteen there, 
and we bought them out of buns in short order and distributed them to the com- 



IN THE WORLD WAR 15 



panies. An aviator appeared on the scene and amused us for a while by doing 
all sorts of acrobatics — loops, whirls, twists through the air — such as we had 
never seen before. 

Finally we were formed and marched into the station, and boarded the 
funny little English coaches, and were locked up in different compartments. 
Canteen girls gave each of us a printed letter of welcome from King George, 
and finally we jolted out of the station, rolled along between factories and 
munition plants — manned mostly by girls and women — and so out into the 
countryside. 

That was a wonderful ride through England on the last day of May. It 
was a perfect evening, the air soft and balmy; light until ten o'clock. It was 
like a toy country to us, beautifully ordered and groomed, with little villages 
here and there, and green hedgerows, and usually one or two Tommies on 
leave walking down the lane with their sweethearts — that made us homesick 
already. And the train sped along, stopping only once for us to get out and 
have some coffee and a drink of water; and we were all thrilled and excited and 
felt a little tickly in the stomach, as you do before a big football game. We 
were fast drawing near the greatest game, now being played to a finish. 

As the night wore on, and it became dark, and we couldn't look out the 
windows any more, our cramped quarters were anything but comfortable. Also, 
sanitary arrangements on European trains are conspicuous by their absence. 
When at last, at 2:00 A. M., we were told to detrain, we were pretty thoroughly 
uncomfortable. 

After the usual hubbub of detraining — "which way's comp'ny form?"- — "I 
dunno" — "First squad" — "Ninth squad" — "Where's me bayonet?" — "Oh, 
thanks" — "D'ja get the can open all right?" — We departed into the night, 
filing past a little station out into a dark road, and then at a good round pace 
on through silent, dark streets, for about a mile. There we were introduced to 
our first billet. 

It was a large empty stone house in a row of similar ones. Bare floors, 
bare walls, but clean, and not so bad. After a vast amount of unnecessary 
fussing about the company got itself settled. Sixty men were to leave at six 
o'clock under Lt. Foulkes. 

That night and early the next morning we heard for the first time the 
distant rumble of the guns in France. 

In the morning we discovered that we were in an embarkation camp at 
Folkestone, near Dover. A beautiful place it was, something like Atlantic 
City, only everything seemed more permanent, and the boardwalk was lacking. 
The camp was a section of the town set apart for the purpose. Everything was 
well ordered. These Englishmen had been at the game a long time, and after 
some chafing and fussing around we discovered that though no one displayed 
any particular "pep," nevertheless things really got done quite well; in the 
British way, of course. But woe be unto the ambitious Yank who sought to 
alter anything. 

Most of the company had not even been in the service long enough to 
master the manual of arms, and part of the day was used in instilling the rudi- 
ments of this essential into them. Time was still left for a short ramble about 
Folkstone, however; and the promenade, town, pubs. Tommies and Waacs were 



16 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY 

all investigated enthusiastically and as thoroughly as time and opportunity 
permitted. 

The next morning the battalion was formed at 6 A. M. and marched along 
cobbled streets to the pier, where we were sardined into a fast channel steamer, 
and donned those confounded lifebelts again for a short farewell wearing. 
Then, with an American destroyer racing along on either side, we slipped 
swiftly down under the Dover Cliffs, then swerving out ancf across the channel 
to Calais. A dock, a Red Cross train on the other side of it, a fisherman in a 
little boat alongside us — France at last. 

CHAPTER IV 
THE ENGLISH SECTOR 



The company filed off the boat, and crossing the dock stumbled into forma- 
tion down the railroad track by the hospital train, and was introduced to a bit 
of backwash from the drive. Some English wounded were being carried from 
the train to the boat by German prisoners. We looked curiously at the latter. 
These were the Huns we were taught to hate, whom we were to kill. They were 
husky, blonde chaps, in faded greenish gray uniforms, with their little flat caps. 
They paid scant attention to us, but carried the English very carefully and 
gently. Maybe the Tommy who walked near by with fixed bayonet had some- 
thing to do with it. At any rate, I didn't feel any very lusty rage or horror at 
them, and though one or two of our men cursed at them under their breath, it 
didn't seem at all convincing, but rather forced. Most of the wounded men 
whose faces I saw glared at us with the usual British "What the devil do you 
mean by looking at me, sir?" so I suppose they were officers. I don't blame 
them for not liking to be stared at. One or two fellows couldn't help groaning 
when their stretchers were lifted. 

But "C" Co. is moving off, and we swing into column of squads and hike 
off behind them, our great heavy packs, religiously packed with all the items 
prescribed for us and much besides, getting heavier and heavier. It was a 
beautiful, sunny day. Calais was quiet; the cobbled streets apparently peopled 
only by a few little gamins of both sexes who greeted us with the cries that 
accompanied us through France — "Souvenir," "Bis-keet," "Chocolat." 

We passed through the outskirts of the town and into a dusty, sandy road 
between green dikes or ramparts dotted with anti-aircraft guns. Then we 
passed by a group of weather worn barracks, dusty and dreary, labeled — 
doubtless by some wag, we thought — "Rest Camp," surrounded by wire fences. 

We cross a canal, turn to the left, and pass along to another — "Rest Camp 
No. 6." The leading company turns in at a gate in the wire fence; we see 
American uniforms and campaign hats; one or two officers in overseas caps, 
strange looking to us then; then we pass in through the gate and realize that 
this is our temporary destination. 

We were billeted in tents, about 12 feet in diameter — and about 2 men 
to a tent. Sand everywhere. A hideous open latrine next to the mess hall. 
After the usual hurly-burly and confusion, we finally kick other companies out 



IN THE WORLD WAR 17 



of our tents, are in turn kicked out of theirs, and, after a long wait, get — "tea." 
Oil, bow Americans did love that word! 

The othcers were lodged in luxury — the five of us had a whole tent, with 
some boards to sleep on. We ate at the British officers' mess, where meals and 
very good beer and wine were served by Waacs. The next thing was an 
otHcers' meeting, and that night a talk by an English major. He cheered us 
up by telling us that very few ever came back, and narrated several choice 
tales of sudden death in unusual and gruesome forms. He was apparently 
bent on removing from our minds any impression that we were in for a pleasure 
trip. We afterwards heard that he was severely criticised by other British 
officers for trying to get our wind up first thing. 

The next morning our equipment was cut down. We could only keep 
what we could carry on our backs. The contents of our barrack bags, the 
extra equipment, the complete outfit that had been subjected to so many inspec- 
tions, upon which we had turned in reams upon reams of reports at Camp Dix, 
were ruthlessly collected, dumped into trucks and carted off to Heaven 
knows where by a Q. M. 2nd Lieutenant. No count was taken, no papers 
signed. The omniscient powers, who had deviled our lives out to 
collect this stuff, hadn't told us anything about this little ceremony. So under- 
wear, socks, extra pairs of shoes were a drug on the market; and we simply 
couldn't give the cigarettes away. A great quantity were turned over to the 
Y. M. C. A. canteen. Of course, we never saw our barrack bags again. 

The next day we formed with rifles, belts and bayonets, and marched about 
four miles out into the flat, flat country; past windmills and hedges and a little 
estaminet here and there, until we came to a British gas house. Here some 
English and Scotch sergeants issued English gas masks, and after a couple of 
hours gas mask drill we went through the gas house, and started back to camp. 
On our way we stopped by at an ordnance hut where our American Enfields 
were exchanged for English Enfields, with their stubby looking barrels and 
heavy sight guards. In our army issuing or exchanging any piece of ordnance 
property is like getting married, and when a rifle is involved it is like five 
actions at law and a couple of breach of promise suits. Here we filed in one 
door, shoved our rifle at a Tommy, beat it for the other door, grabbed an 
English weapon and bayonet, and the deed was done. I happened to be in 
command of the battalion that day, and somewhere I suppose the British gov- 
ernment has a couple of grubby slips of paper on which I've signed for 1,000 
gas masks, rifles and bayonets. The transaction would probably have been a 
fatal blow to a U. S. ordnance officer. Being only a reserve officer of infantry, 
it seemed to me pretty sensible. 

Back in camp we were pretty much left alone, and some there were who 
lost no time making an acquaintance with the estaminets of Calais. In thirty- 
six hours we had learned enough English to discourse glibly of "tuppence ha' 
penny," and I even overheard Price offer to "Shoot you a bob," and somebody 
promptly took "six penn 'orth of it." But this w^as nothing compared to our 
excursions into the unexplored fields of the long suffering French language. By 
that evening most of the men seemed quite proficient in a few such indispens- 
able phrases as "Vin rouge tout de suite" or rather "Van rooge toot sweet," 
"Encore," "Combien," and "Oo la la, ma cherie." 



18 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



The next morning — Wednesday, June 5th — we left Rest Camp No. 6, and 
glad we were to leave it, for a dirty, hot hole it was. We hadn't been bombed, 
though the town got its usual raid, and the camp was complimented the next 
night by the Boche. 

The hike to the station was long and hot and made without a rest. Of 
course, not knowing as much as they would later, the men's packs were tre- 
mendous. The overcoat, blanket, 100 rounds of ammunition and extra shoes 
and rations alone are a good load, and when one adds several suits of under- 
wear, extra toilet articles, Jenny's sweaters, Aunt Sarah's wristlets, a couple of 
cartons of cigarettes and pipe tobacco, and some chocolate, it gets tremendous. 
Little Effingham's pack as usual, was down to his heels, but he stoutly refused 
assistance, also as usual. The company arrived at the station feeling like a 
dyspeptic bear with scarlet fever. 

We were forthwith introduced to the famous "Hommes 40, Chevaux 8." 
It was seldom that bad, but even 2 5 or 30 men are a tight fit in those little 
cattle cars, as you all can testify. 

We rolled out of Havre, pursued to the last by the children and orange 
sellers, who seemed to spring up from the ground everywhere in Northern 
France. 

This first trip was short. We passed from the low country into a gently 
rolling terrain, and at about 1 o'clock arrived at Marquise, where we detrained. 

We were met by a couple of Scotch officers from the 14th Highland Light 
Infantry. They guided us up the road to the village where we were billeted, 
about two miles away. On the way one of them. Captain "Jimmie" Johnston, 
told us that their battalion was detailed to act as instructors for the 311th 
Infantry. 

The first little cross roads village was our billet — Rinxent. The command 
"Fall out t' right of th' road" sounded quite welcome to the overloaded 
marchers and we watched the rest of the battalion march by enroute to their 
billets at Rety, two kilos further. 

The company was scattered along the road In small billets of from ten to 
forty men. Company headquarters was established in the corner estaminet. 
This was our first Introduction to French billets. The usual procedure con- 
sisted of: 

1. Protest to billeting officer or N. C. O. at putting human beings into 
such a place. Unsuccesful. 

2. Long argument with house holder, he speaking French very fast and 
we speaking American very loud. Usually ended by the argument of a five 
franc note to the frugal French peasant. 

3. Cleaning out the stable, chicken house, or barn, with voluble protests 
from f. F. p. 

4. Making sundry discoveries during the first night. 

5. Pitching pup tents in nearest field. 

We got permission to use a field about 100 yards square for a drill ground 
and two platoons pitched pup tents there. 

The first night a few of the boys became slightly excited over the privilege 
of visiting the estaminets, and tried to drink up all the vin rouge and cognac 



IN THE WORLD WAR 19 



at once. The consequence was that the dispensers of good cheer were put 
under the ban for several days. 

Now the training of the company began in earnest. The majority of the 
men had had only the most hasty smattering of the elements of squad drill; 
many could not shoulder arms properly. Two platoons would use the drill field 
while two drilled on the roads outside. The training schedules called for a 
good nine-hour day of drill and ceremonies, varied occasionally by short 
practice hikes by company or battalion. 

Lewis guns were issued to us here. A few officers and n. c. o.'s had taken 
courses in the use of this weapon at Camp Dix; company and battalion schools 
were at once started, the latter conducted by Scottish n. c. o.'s from the 14th 
H. L. I. 

In addition, there were battalion, regimental and corps schools for bayonet, 
gas defense, liaison (for the runners), bombing, rifle grenade, musketry and 
several more. From this time until we left France there were always a number 
of men away at schools. Of course this was necessary, but it broke up the 
training of the company as a whole. Also, we were brigaded with the British, 
and some men would go to a British school and qualify as instructors, only to 
come back and find that the American system was being used, and vice versa. 
Both systems might have their good points, and did have, but the rate at which 
orders and instructions and w"ays of doing things changed from day to day was 
enough to bewilder old hands at this game; and we were greenhorns. 

"Jimmy" Johnston helped a lot. He was in command of what was left of 
the 14th battalion. Highland Light Infantry — about four squads. Of medium 
height, rather stocky build, with a bonny, handsome face and bright blue eyes 
under his Scotch cap, Jimmy was one of the finest fellows and best officers that 
ever stepped. He had been through the Gallipoli expedition, and two years on 
the Western front; had been reported killed in action, and gone home on leave 
to be greeted as one risen from the dead. 

Jimmy had been through the mill. He knew. Always with a word of 
encouragement, to avoid dampening our American energy, he would help along 
with quiet hints and canny suggestions that were worth their weight in gold. 
When we came staggering along under heavy packs, he said nothing, but 
strolled along with his little cane and admired the landscape. When orders 
would come In thick and fast, each one contradicting the last, and all to be 
executed at once, Jimmy would intimate verra, verra cautiously, that if we used 
our own :lad2rment we should get along somehow, and that C. O's and chiefs of 
staff had to keep themselves busy, and what they didn't know wouldn't hurt 
'em. Like most Scotch officers he seemed to live mostly on whiskey, >''.nd 
throve on the diet. 

On June 11, Major Odom went to a Corps school, and I was left in charge 
of the battalion. Of course, that (veninj'; oiders came in to move next morning. 
We had just begun to get in our English transport — the little limbers and the 
cranky rolling kitchen with which we were to become so familiar later. Up to 
then we had cooked on our American field ranges. 

At 7 o'clock next morning we pulled out and marched down to Rety. 
There we fell in behind the 2d battalion, and started on our first full day's 
hike. The packs were still heavy, and those full cartridge belts — Lord, how 



20 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

much 100 rounds of ammunition can weigh after a while! As usual with green 
troops, the leading element set too fast a pace. Rests seemed but a minute. 
Finally, on a long, long up grade, we halted for lunch. After chow and an 
hour's rest, we pulled on, picking 'em up and putting 'em down. On, over 
broad white roads; turning off into narrower roads shaded by rows of tall 
trees, turning into the highroad again. We passed stragglers from the 309th 
and 310th Infantry, so knew that the whole 78th Division must be in France 
and on the move near us. The hills were higher, the women were older. We 
came to a village; three estaminets, two stores, a school house, a blacksmith's 
shop, a sign. "Brunembert." Regimental Hdqrs. and Supply Co. are halted 
there. We keep on; on the other side of town "C" and "D" companies meet 
their advance party guides and turn off; we hike on half a kilometer, half way 
up a hill, turn off to the right, hike around the hill, and finally, at about 3 P. M., 
plumb tuckered, the company is split, two platoons going to one farmhouse, the 
other two to another, at Haute Creuse. 

Haute Creuse itself was only a crossroads, with one poor cottage. Battalion 
headquarters was there. The company billets were a good quarter of a mile 
apart. In addition, when I inspected the billet assigned the 3rd and 4th 
platoons, I found a remarkably dirty old barn, with a cesspool and manure 
heap outside that was awful, even for France. The only spring was near the 
pool. So the next morning we moved these platoons over to the other billet, 
pitching pup tents in a beautiful field just on the other side of the barnyard. 

That afternoon an old duffer in an English major's uniform came ambling 
along. He expressed great anguish at our not using the billets assigned to us. 
It meant nothing to him that our comfort, health, convenience were served by 
our using our own tents. The plan was that that lousy old typhoid trap should 
be occupied, and so it must be done. And he, it appeared, was the "area com- 
mandant." 

So I said "Yessir," and tipped Sgt. Ertwine off to have some men make a 
great show of striking tents, and resolved privately to take a chance yet. Jimmy 
Johnston came along later and told me that area commandants were a tribe of 
dud officers who were given that job to keep 'em out of mischief. 

I was hauled' over the coals three or four times about it. The old Major 
wrote to his General Hdq., and they wrote to our hdq., and it came down the 
line to our Colonel, whose soul shivered before the wintry blast. But finally 
Lt. Col. Myers took it up and obtained permission for us to stay where we were. 

At Rinxent a number of second lieutenants, just commissioned at the 
Officers' Training Camp at Langres, had joined us. We had a captain and five 
or six second lieuts. attached to "B" Co. The captain, who was commanding 
the company in my absence at bn. hdq., was a peculiar individual, with very 
fierce and imposing mustachios, and a manner to match; but an absurdly incon- 
gruous weak and husky voice, due to throat trouble. The lieuts. were rather a 
good bunch; men who had been n. c. o.'s in outfits that had come over during 
the preceding year, and some of whom had been in the trenches already. We 
were fortunate in keeping one of them, Lieut. Bivens Moore, in the company; 
the others we lost by transfers from time to time. 

Training was resumed again; schools ran in full force. Officers and men 
were continually going off to sundry corps or army schools in the vicinity; at 



IN THE WORLD WAR 21 



St. Onier or points near by. Harold Sculthorpe went off to a cooks' school, 
and we didn't see him again for many a month. Sgt. Peterson was made 
Brigade Postal N. C. O. We received our first mail from home, and nobody can 
ever tell how welcome it was. Letters were the one slender thread that con- 
nected our new life with the old. A bit of mail cheered up a soldier for days; 
a disappointment when mail came in without one for him made him blue for a 
week. It was pleasant to see the earnest faces of fellows like Sgt. Schelter, and 
Corporal DeGrote beaming when they heard from their wives and little ones. 
With the impatience and eagerness of the newlyweds, I was of course sympath- 
etic. And as for the majority, who were waiting for letters from the best little 
girl in the world, they were either insufferable in their glamourous egotism, or 
serio-comic in their suffering, according to whether the lady had seen fit to be 
kind or cool when she took her pen in hand. Certain ones, too, who shall be 
nameless, would receive letters in sundry handwritings, with a variety of post- 
marks. Don Juans, these; gay and giddy Lotharios in the old home town. 

We were billeted at a typical French farm of the larger type. As you 
turned in off the road through the gateway, a black dog chained in a little stone 
dungeon just inside barked fiercely. This poor beast had been chained in that 
one place for so long that he knew nothing else. He was half blind; and one 
day when I unchained him and took him for a walk down the road, he was 
desperately frightened; and as soon as he got back he made a dash for his 
kennel, and refused to come out. 

The long, two story house took up most of the left hand side of the court- 
yard. The officers had two rooms here, one of which we used for a mess. The 
family lived mostly in the big kitchen, where a little fire burned on the great 
hearth. On the other two sides were stables, some of which were used as 
billets, storeroom and orderly room. The manure heap adorned the center of 
the courtyard. Behind lay a small but important yard, which in turn opened 
on the big field where two platoons were in pup tents around the border, and 
where the company formed. 

The people here were dull, homely, grasping and churlish. I do not 
recollect ever having been given a pleasant word by one of them; but of com- 
plaints and claims for damages there was no lack. They seemed to resent our 
presence from the very first; we were apparently as much intruders to them as 
German troops could have been. 

The men soon began to resent this attitude, and to reciprocate in kind. 
Soldiers are apt to be heedless, and are of course a nuisance to* the people they 
are quartered on; but at Rety they had greeted us in the main as friends, and 
we in turn tried to give as little trouble as possible. Here our notions of being 
the welcome young warriors got a good severe jolt. 

We on our side took some time to learn how to conduct ourselves. How 
were we to know that a French peasant would far rather have you walk over 
him than over one of his fields? Why was it a crime to cut down a stunted 
dead tree for the company kitchen? And where, oh, where were the pretty 
mademoiselles? 

But even in Northern France all the people were not like this. Remember 
the old woman just down the road, who lived with her daughters in the cottage 
which was battalion headquarters? They were very poor, and worked very 



22 COMPANY B, 31ITH INFANTRY, 

hard; all the long summer day — and it was light from 4:30 A. M. to 9:00 P. M. 
— they were busy, indoors and out. Her three sons were in the army, one a 
prisonier de guerre, two at the front. When one of them, only a young lad, 
came home for a few days' permission, he went out every morning at 6:00 
o'clock and worked until dusk. How many of us would have done as much? 
And the old lady and girl always had a smile and cheery word, and would give 
soldiers a drink of milk and insisted on having officers going to bn. hdq. stop 
for a cup of coffee. Even the pretty little goat in the yard grew friendly with 
olive drab, and would romp with us like a dog. 

For several days we used whatever little fields we could for drill; every 
square foot of land that was suitable seemed to be under cultivation. This 
was unsatisfactory, to say the least. Finally Col. Meyers arranged for us to 
have the use of the top of the great hill. It was a splendid place to drill — 
after you got there. But oh, that hike up that young mountain and down again, 
twice a day! Will we ever forget it? 

When we had been here about a week, Major Odom returned, and a day 
or so later Lieuts. Schuyler and Merrill rejoined the company. They were all 
primed with the new wrinkles they had picked up at school at Chatillon, and 
took over the first and third platoons respectively. Schuyler's conscientious- 
ness, high spirits and inexhaustible energy made him a great asset to the com- 
pany. Merrill was an equally hard and willing worker, and though young, was 
one of the brightest men in the regiment. He had graduated from the school 
at the head of his class, which included majors, captains and lieuts. from all 
over the A. E. F. 

We were stationed about 50 kilometers behind the lines; and had the 
Crermans made one more drive on Calais that summer we should have undoubt- 
edly gone Into action. No lights were shown at night, and it was seldom that 
we did not hear the droning buzz of the great Boche bombing planes winging 
their way to bomb Calais or Boulogne, or maybe some nearer town, Desvres or 
St. Omer. 

At the beginning of July details of officers and n. c. o.'s were sent up to 
the front lines for four day tours of observation. Sgts. Ertwine, Perry and I 
went on the first one, and were in the line with a battalion of the King's Own. 
Scottish Borderers. Our experiences, while interesting, hardly belong here. 
Lieut. Foulkes went up the next week and landed in the midst of an attack, so 
he saw plenty of action. Then Lieut. Schuyler went up with an Australian 
outfit, who didn't^ let him pine for excitement during his stay. It was an excel- 
lent system, and we saw at first hand how things were really run in the 
trenches. 

When I returned from my tour, an orderly brought around late that night 
some red covered books and leaflets, and we were told that these would be put 
into effect the next day. These were the new system of combat formations, 
involving an absolutely new extended order drill, and formation of the com- 
pany. Lieut. Moore had drilled a few times in these formations; the rest of 
us knew no more about them than the company cooks did. So next morning 
we sallied forth, books in hand, and worked the formations out step by step. 
Everyone was quick to see that this was something like business, as of course 
our old army regulations were absurd when it came to using the new special 



IN THE WORLD WAR 23 



weapons, such as automatic rifles, hand and rifle grenades, and so on. So the 
new formations were mastered remarkably quickly. 

A bayonet course with trenches, "shell holes" and dummies was installed, 
and a sergeant of the Northumberland Fusileers was instructor. He was a 
good one, too; but as usual, we were up against it, as he taught some things 
slightly differently from the American methods. 

It was while going over this course that Gustave Fleischmann stepped in a 
hole and broke his leg. It was a bad break, for I saw his foot and lower leg 
go out sideways at a right angle, in spite of his leggings. He was game 
enough, though, and smoked a cigarette while waiting for an ambulance and 
surgeon. We heard from him several times from English hospitals, but he was 
never able to rejoin the company. 

We also lost another very valuable man in Corporal Edward Johnson. 
This man could have claimed exemption for either dependents or a weak heart. 
He refused to do either, and we managed to get him passed by the medicos for 
foreign service. The daily hike up that hill, however, and the strenuous life 
generally, were too much for him, though he kept at it until he was worn down 
to a very dangerous point. I made him go before the surgeon, who at once 
ordered him transferred to a depot brigade. I know that Johnson was not 
liked by some of you men on account of his conscientiousness. I believe, how- 
ever, that when you look back upon it you will appreciate his honest, unselfish 
i'ld unceasing labor for his squad, platoon, and company. 

That countryside was beautiful at this time. It rained often, but in 
showers; not the continuous drizzle that came later. Maybe it was because we 
took more notice of such things than usual, not knowing if we would see 
another summer, but the green fields, fresh in the early morning and cool and 
sweet at night, and the hedges, and the pretty little bits of woodland along the 
creeks and ravines, all seemed lovely as never before. 

In the next town, just over the hill, was an Australian rest camp. We 
got along with the Aussies much better than with Tommies, and every night 
numerous visitors went down to cultivate the entente cordial with the assist- 
ance of the town estaminets. 

Our first payday In France came about this time, and what with back pay 
coming in, and the high rate of exchange, and being paid in francs, some of 
the boys waxed rather too exuberant over the flowing bowl. What with Janicki 
and Effingham trying to clean up Brunembert, starting in with a couple of 
Tommies and ending with an abrupt thud when they got around to "D" Co. 
headquarters; and sundry members of the Irish brigade making a Donnybrook 
Fair out of the highways and byways, I had a busy night. 

Another night we shall remember is that of July 4th. Sgts. Ertwine, 
Perry and Anness were going up for commissions at the OflScer Candidates' 
School at Langres, and the oflacers gave them a farewell supper that evening. 
The company was, I understand, also celebrating the national holiday conscien- 
tiously. When the festivities were at their height, we heard the squealing of 
bagpipes, and the curious bump-bump-bumpetty-bum of the Scottish drummer, 
that nobody on earth but a Jock can keep step with. The band of the H. L. I. 
had been serenading the Col. and were going back to their billets. 

All turned out to see them pass, and as they swung up the road, Lt. 



24 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Foulkes, in an inspired moment, detailed Supply Sgt. Levy to bring 'em back 
for "B " Co. 

In five minutes the pipes returned, with Joe marching at their head twirl- 
ing the drum major's baton. They turned into the courtyard, and were taken, 
into our midst with a mighty burst of cheers, skirling of pipes, and thunder of 
the drums. That was a scene I shall never forget — a wonderful setting for a 
musical comedy. The dark courtyard, fitfully illumined by the glare of a few 
lanterns and torches — the crowd of olive drab figures around the Scotties in 
their kilts, with one in the center doing a Highland fling. The visitors were 
already fortified, but additional liquid refreshments were hastily procured for 
them, and a testimonial taken up in the way of a collection. In the meantime 
the drummer, well on the shady side of sober, rendered several ballads. We 
reciprocated with Irish songs by Peter and others, and a breakdown by Kitson. 
It was well on towards midnight when they left; and next morning the Major 
wanted to know "what the hell was B Company up to last night?" 

Another pleasant time was had by all one day while I was at the front. 
Someone at staff hdq. felt an idle curiosity to see how fast the division could 
turn out, if it had to. Accordingly the order went forth — march at 2:00 P. M. 
Thinking the Boches had broken through and we were "for it," there was a 
mad scurry and scramble; the kitchen pulled to pieces; rations hastily issued; 
and the company, under Lt. Dunn, reported to the Brunembert road about half 
an hour after the time set, and about two hours sooner than had seemed possi- 
ble that morning. After fussing about a bit, the companies were marched back 
to their hastily abandoned billets. 

All the time we were in the English area, rations were short. The 
British ration must have been much smaller than ours, or else there was a hitch 
somewhere. Our men were used to three square meals a day. The British, 
only had porridge, tea and bread and jam for breakfast; a regular meal — stew 
or meat and vegetables — in the middle of the day, and tea and bread and 
cheese at night. This didn't go far to relieve the aching void that every Amer- 
ican soldier cherishes under his belt. We spent thousands of francs from the 
company fund buying potatoes and whatever else we could to eke out the 
ration. But even so, there was never any diflBculty in following the advice of 
those doctors who say to stop eating while you still feel hungry. 

July 14th was Bastile Day. We were turned out for a ceremony to cele- 
brate it. The ceremony consisted of marching to Brunembert in the rain, 
squads left, right dress, present arms, order arms, squads left, and hike back 
in the rain. I can't say my bosom dilated with enthusiasm, nor did the specta- 
tors — a dozen children, two estaminet keepers and the usual "orangee" girls — 
emit any rousing cheers. 

I see by the Regimental History that the Duke of Connaught and General 
Pershing "honored us with a visit" at this time, but said visits were practically 
painless for "B" Company, as we didn't even see the dust from their auto- 
mobiles. 

By this time the regimental transport was complete — or as nearly so as it 
ever was; all furnished by the British. Each battalion was now functioning as 
a separate unit, and Lt. Gibbs had his hands full with the supply and transport. 
He was accordingly made bn. transport and supply officer, and the Major 



IN THE WORLD WAR 2 5 



selected Lt. Foulkes as battalion adjutant. So we lost the best officer in "B" 
Company, and I believe the best line subaltern in the regiment. I know he 
hated to leave the company, and there wasn't a man but missed him from that 
time on. He always had a soft spot in his heart for us, as Bn. Adjt. and later 
as Regimental Adjt. Foulkes was one man I was never disappointed in. 
McMahon, his striker, went with him. Mac was a good scout too. 

By July 18th we had skirmished over every inch of the big hill; hiked 
over all the roads within a six mile radius; bayoneted about 500 "Boche" 
gunnysacks apiece, and made 'steen triangles at musketry drill. We got 
another march order, and after the usual bustle of cleaning up we pulled out 
with full equipment on July 19th at 9:00 A. M. 

It was only a four mile hike this time, to Lottingham, the nearest railway 
depot. There we were parked in a little yard off the road, and saw the 309th 
and 310th Inf. go by to entrain. We waited about an hour, and I broke up a 
very promising crap game, to my secret regi'et. I afterward chucked the bones 
out of the car window, much to Dunn's disgust. 

At 11:30 we were packed into a train, which rolled off in the usual non- 
chalant manner, at an average speed of six miles per hour. We passed through 
some pretty enough country during the afternoon, and speculated wildly on 
our destination, as usual missing it completely. 

At 8:30 P. M. we pulled up at Ligny alongside an American Red Cross 
train, with a couple of real American nurses in it. How good they looked to 
us! The car windows were nearly all shattered, and the cars scarred with 
bullets and shrapnel. This was a bit of the real thing. 

The battalion detrained, formed on the road, and we hiked off through the 
long summer twilight, guided by Vafiadis, our advance party detail. We were 
being introduced to the Arras-St. Pol road, with which we were to become well 
acquainted shortly. We went on, over the railroad tracks at Roellecourt, stop- 
ped for a ten-minute rest at dusk and watched the cows come home down the 
hill — another homesick sight for the country lads — and hiked on and on. At 
last, well after dark, we turned off up another road; past a bit of woods, then 
off to the right past a large farmhouse, and Vafiadis pointed out a little plot 
about as big as a Harlem flat and said we were to billet there. I remarked 
"likell" and pushed ahead into a nice grassy field where we pitched pup tents 
for the night. I knew there would be an awful yowl from the owners in the 
morning, but let it slide. 

Next morning we found that this was St. Michel, and that St. Pol, quite a 
sizeable town, was only a quarter of a mile away. Pup tents were pitched up 
the hill from the field, in the woods, along a rough lumber road. The kitchen 
was installed under some trees near the farmhouse, which was deserted. We 
found a lot of kitchen utensils — the place had been an estaminet — and put some 
of 'em to use. The day was spent in resting and getting cleaned up and settled. 
In the evening some went into St. Pol. 

That night we found out why the place was deserted. St. Pol was a rail- 
road center, and quite convenient for the Boche bombers. No bombs landed 
in camp that night, but they were hitting all around, with a roar and a jar 
that gave a fellow a queer sensation in the stomach. Being bombed is such a 
helpless, hopeless sort of process. 



2 6 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Earlier in the war St. Pol had been under long range artillery Are; and 
between that and the air raids there were plenty of shell holes all around. 
There were some among our pup tents, and a couple of huge ones just across 
the road in the woods. 

Company headquarters was established in the attic of the farmhouse, 
battalion headquarters being on the first floor. Regimental Hdq. was at 
Kouttlin-Ricametz, about 4 kilos away. 

In a couple of days a vitriolic and voluble French woman descended upon 
us. It appeared that we had broken into the house, used her things without 
permission, taken eggs the hens had laid, used several priceless old boards 
from the barn to make a mess table, walked on the grass, and disturbed the 
manure pile. I never did believe she and her husband ever lived there; but 
we put everything back, and ate in the mud until Thompson and Farry found 
some boards elsewhere. These two French people made life as miserable as 
they could for us while we were there, continually claiming damages and pro- 
testing at everything we did, it seemed. 

Most of the inhabitants of St. Michel and St. Pol slept at night in long 
dugouts tunnelled underneath the hills. They were very damp, foul close 
holes, with little cubicles scratched out of the walls to sleep in. They weren't 
taking any more chances with H. E. 

Our "intensive training" was continued here. We were rejoiced that we 
hadn't that awful hill to climb, and somehow we got away with using the field 
to drill on. The mornings were taken up with problems, and before long we 
were well acquainted with those woods; then there was bayonet drill, bombing, 
the everlasting gas mask drill, musketry, physical drill, and so on. The 
afternoon was devoted to special drill for Lewis gun, V. B. and hand bombers, 
runners, etc., while the rest of the company did problems or musketry. We 
stood retreat and reveille along the lumber road — oh, yes, and that 15 minutes 
of manual of arms before retreat every night. 

Usually it rained here. Drill went on just the same, though. We could 
hear the thunder of the big guns at night, and the crash and roar from the 
droning bombing planes let us know that this was in grim earnest, and it 
behooved us to make the most of our time. 

Regimental, brigade, and divisional problems began to be all the rage. 
Since nobody below majors ever get any information as to what these are all 
about, the troops were usually represented by flags. In good weather these 
things are just a bore; when it rains, they're considerably worse. 

On August 3d, the H. L. I. detachment left us, and we completed our 
training on our own. 

About two weeks after our arrival at St. Michel, the word was passed that 
Elsie Janis was coming to visit the division. Of course that afternoon was 
marked by a good old Northern France soaker. How it rained! We hiked 
about three miles through it, and were packed into a courtyard with five or six 
thousand other shoving, soaking doughboys. Miss Janis had our band to help 
her out, and a little platform with a bit of canvas overhead, which kept off a 
little of the rain. Half of us couldn't see her except for occasional glimpses; 
ofiicers and men were drenched right through and through. Besides, Miss 
Janis was physically about all in from overwork, and had a peach of a cold — 



IN THE WORLD WAR 27 



a real A. E. F. cold, not the kind that amateur singers always use for an alibi. 
The bunch was sore at being hauled out in this weather for anything short of 
going into action. 

And yet, from the first moment that girl stepped on the platform, she had 
the crowd with her. We were fed up, lonesome in a strange land, sick of 
hearing a foreign tongue, longing to see a regular girl again. And here was 
a bit of real America before our eyes; pep incarnate — a snappy, clean cut, 
clean girl from home, laughing with us, making us laugh at ourselves and in 
spite of ourselves, jazzing it up in the rain. And we sloshed and squnched 
back to St. Michel, singing: 

"Beautiful Elsie, beautiful Elsie, 

"You're the only, only girl that I ado-o-re." 

On August 5th the battalion left St. Michel at 9:00 A. M. in full marching 
order. We were going to occupy a trench sector for a practice tour. 

As you all know now, the trench systems of each side during the war were 
in triplicate, or maybe quadruplicate. There was the system actually being 
occupied against the enemy. A couple of miles back was another complete 
system, to be defended in case the first was taken; and, if time permitted, yet 
another behind this. 

We were to take over a sector of the G. H. Q., or second system, just 
behind Arras. While this was partly a regular item on our training schedule — 
the last one before actually going into the line — it was also contemplated that 
in case the Boche uncorked another drive on Arras, we should occupy this line 
and bar the road of the enemy should he break through, as he had done in 
the spring further north. 

After a long 12 mile hike up the Arras road, we turned off to the right, 
past a long train of British motor lorries, of which there seemed an inexhaus- 
tible supply. On through roads ever rougher and narrower we went, and 
halted at last in a clearing in a patch of woods. The oflBcers went out to 
reconnoitre the sector and have their company sectors assigned, and the com- 
pany stacked arms in the wet woods — it was raining, of course — and wondered 
if we'd get any chow. 

It was dark when we had had supper from our one lunged rolling kitchen 
and filed off to take up our position. "B" Co. was battalion support. The 
trenches were only dug about waist high; there were no dugouts or cubby holes 
to sleep in; not even a firing step to keep you out of the mud. We splashed 
and squatted through the pitchy blackness; no lights were allowed, of course. 
We reached our post finally, and settled down in the bottom of the trench in 
abject misery. The only lights were from the star shells that the Germans 
were sending up from their real lines, only a few kilos away; and the rumble of 
artillery fire there ahead reminded us that we were pretty close to the real 
thing. 

While I was making my final inspection, I saw a light come flashing down 
the communication trench towards us. This was against all orders, so I snarled 
out a peremptory command to put it out. The light didn't pay any attention. 
This was the last straw; I thought that so long as we had to go through this 
performance it was going to be done right, with nobody privileged to cross 
their fingers and say they weren't playing. I wallowed off in the direction of 



2 8 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

that flash light, wet through and getting pretty sore. I hailed it; I adopted 
a false, feigned politeness; I remarked that this was not puss in the corner, nor 
was I talking for my health, and if they couldn't douse that glim I had a .4 5 
that could. The light went out abruptly. I asked if he was simulating a 
steamboat on the Mississippi. I finally got quite near and demanded whoin'ell 
that was anyhow. And it was the Colonel. Yes, of course. 

The best of it was that he had issued the order against lights himself about 
two hours before, and couldn't very well blame me. 

An order came round to send a detail after some corrugated iron at point 
"G24a7.3." I stumbled around until I walked on a sergeant. Bill Reid, and so I 
made him the goat, and told him to take a detail and go to it. The place was 
about 300 yards away over a couple of fields. Bill and his detail floundered 
off, and roamed about until 3:00 A. M., when they hailed a figure in the dark- 
ness as "Hey, buddy." It was Lt. Col. Myer, at regimental hdq. at Hermaville, 
a couple of kilos away. He steered Bill back to the company, where he arrived 
at dawn — without the iron. 

During the day the sun shone at interva.ls, and we scraped out cubbies in 
the side of the trench, and tried to get a little dry. Barney O'Rourke, who 
had been missing since the night before, showed up under guard, somewhat the 
worse for wear. He had wandered off to Hermaville, met an Irish Tommy, 
found a hospitable estaminet, and subsequently had severely rebuked an oflBcer 
from Rgtl. Hdqrs. who undertook to reprove him. Regt'l Hdq. was all for 
having Barney shot at sunrise or something, and of course I got a call. At 
the courtmartial, though, we got him off with a month's hard labor and a 
$10.00 blind, which was really quite all that happy-go-lucky, golden-hearted 
son of Erin deserved. He never did the month at that, or rather we all did. 
But he dug me a company headquarters when he came back, and it would have 
been fine only someone walked through the roof. 

We were relieved that night by "E" Co., 2 4 hours before we expected. 
We marched back to the clearing in the woods, had supper at the rolling 
kitchen, pitched pup tents and had a comparatively dry night's sleep. Jerry 
came over and tried to drop an ash can on the kitchen, but didn't succeed. 

They let us sleep late next morning, and we started for our billet at 10:00 
A. M., leaving the 2d bn. to the joys of make-believe trench life. 

Right here I want to say a word about our experience with court-martials. 
There has been much criticism of military justice as administered in the 
A. E. F., but the 78th Division was fortunate in having as Judge Advocate a 
most capable, honest, experienced, broad minded man, Major George G. Bogert, 
formerly Professor of Law at Cornell, I believe. His assistant, Lt. John J. 
Kuhn, was an equally fine type of lawyer and gentleman. I know of no 
accused man who did not get an absolutely square deal from them, and from 
the courts-martial before which they appeared. 

Well, here we are back in St. Michel, rocked to sleep every night by the 
free fireworks from our aerial visitors. We had hardly rested from our trench 
experience before I was ordered to take details from each company to the rifle 
range. Part of "B" company had gone a week before, and their tales of woe 
had in some measure prepared us. 

We had no guide. As we hiked through Foufflin-Ricametz, I stopped off 



IN THE WORLD WAR 29 



and Capt. Wagner showed me our destination on a map. We plodded on and 
on, through about 20 villages, all alike, and all with a maze of crooked little 
streets that weren't on any map. We passed by a lot of Canadian artillery back 
for a rest. The Canadians had been badly shot up before we got to France, 
and were being reorganized and recuperating that summer. They, the Anzacs, 
the Australians, the Scotties, and the Guard regiments were the shock troops 
of the British Army. 

Finally we came upon a welcome sign, "Target Range," and we bivouacked 
in woods behind the slope whereon the targets were. The next day we plugged 
away at 200, 300 and 500 yards at four rickety swivel targets. It rained, of 
course; but we finished in the afternoon, and hiked back to St. Michel. It 
seemed even longer than before, though we took a short cut by a back road; 
and we were for once glad to see the lonely tower of St. Michel rising above the 
woods outside St. Pol. 

I returned to find Major Odom on the eve of departure for another school. 
From this time, then, until he returned on August 2 0th, the company was com- 
manded by Lt. Schuyler, who carried out his additional duties with character- 
istic energy and conscientiousness. 

On August 12th, the whole regiment was on the move; and this time we 
were leaving St. Michel for good, though a small detail was left to guard the 
baggage. Sgt. Haynes, who had hurt his leg in bayonet practice, was left 
behind with water on the knee, and never succeeded in rejoining the company. 
Our faithful company clerk, too, Cpl. Jimmy Jones, broke his ankle, and was 
sent to a hospital in England. Fortunately for me, we had Cpl. Stiles ready 
to step into his shoes. From this time on Stiles handled the company paper 
work in a most eflicient and conscientious fashion. Most fellows never have 
any idea of the long hours, day and night, that a company clerk puts in, strug- 
gling with the labyrinth of forms, records, reports and correspondence that are 
vital to the running of the company. The greater part of the paper work that 
was done at Camp Dix by the officers and Co. Cmdrs. was turned over to the 
Co. clerks in France, and many a night Stiles and Jones have pored over that 
field desk, by the light of a candle, keeping us straight with the authorities. 
If records ever went astray, or passes went awry, it was not their fault. "B" 
Company was certainly most fortunate in its company clerks. 

It was a long, hot march that sunny August day up toward the front, and 
the company pulled into Lattre St. Quentin pretty well tuckered. I had been 
taken up in a British staff car as we passed through Regt'l Hdq., and, with the 
other two battalion commanders, was taken to reconnoiter the sectors of the 
front line which we were to take over. Each battalion was to be brigaded with 
an English regiment, and to hold the front lines for a regular tour of duty as 
the last step in the training schedule. 

The 1st Bn. was to go in with the 1st London regiment. The officers of 
this brigade and regiment received me very cordially. Our proposed battalion 
sector was just outside Arras. The town itself was within the English lines, 
which ran along the eastern outskirts. The position was well organized, and 
the trenches were in good shape, as this part of the line had been practically 
stationary for a year. The outfit we were to relieve were in high glee, as they 
had been in the trenches for 8 months straight. It was a "quiet" sector, but 



30 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Jerry buzzed a few shells quite unpleasantly close while I was roaming about. 

I rode back in luxury in the stall' car to find the battalion billeted and 
asleep. We had arranged for officers and platoon sergeants to go up in a 
couple of days to reconnoiter their respective positions. 

Lattre St. Quentin was a village of some sixty houses, about 2 kilos from 
Arras. "B" Co. was billeted in the barn behind the house where Bn. Hdq. was 
located, and in the house next to it down the road. 

During the next few days we had a platoon competition in the battalion. 
"B" Co. was represented by the 4th platoon. The event was won by the "C" 
Co. 3d platoon, but all the contestants did well. 

There was a nice "vacant lot" by the billet, and we had some good fun 
kicking a football and staging several baseball matches there. The weather 
was fine, and we were in great fettle. 

On August 14th orders arrived promoting Lt. Col. Myer to Colonel and 
putting him in command of the 12 9th Infantry. This was a great loss to the 
regiment. Myer was the best officer we had, thoroughly efficient, devoted to 
his profession, always on the job, an excellent judge of men, and an adept at 
picking out the essential things that counted. He placed the good of the service 
first, and himself last, and he had the trust and respect of every officer and 
man in the outfit. 

The officers aiid platoon sgts. left on the evening of the 15th for the front 
line via a little narrow gauge railway, returning the next morning. All was 
now in readiness. 

But at noon on the 16th, orders arrived postponing the relief. On the 
17th, rumors began to fly that we were to go to another part of the front. Then 
we were ordered to turn in the Lewis guns, with which we had become quite 
familiar. Somehow it leaked out that we were to go South to the American 
sector. This rumor became a certainty when we turned in all our British 
rifles and ammunition, receiving instead American Enfields. Our overcoats and 
other supplies that we had left at St. Michel were brought over in motor trucks. 
The details guarding them said that Jerry had bombed the old billet to a 
fare-you-well the night after we left it. 

Our joy at moving was heartfelt and unbounded. Those who had been 
south to schools or on other duties told us what a "bon secteur" it was. And 
the prospect of drawing American rations and being with American troops and 
transport again was welcomed with acclaim. To tell the truth, we were rather 
fed up with being under the wing of our British Allies. Their ways were not 
our ways; we would feel better when with our own kind. Tlieoretically, we 
were brothers in the great cause. Practically, in the mud and sweat and 
thousand petty aggravations and misunderstandings, we had undoubtedly 
gott'en upon each others nerves. The average Tommy looked upon us as a 
bunch of greenhorn Yankees, who had all made fortunes during the first three 
years of the war and were now over in France three years late spending them 
and raising the price of vin rouge and "oofs." We looked upon the average 
Tommy as a degenerate, tea drinking, saluting bellyacher. Tho Australians 
and Canadians were our sworn buddies, however, and we liked the Scotties. 
Maybe this was because the only British combat troops we had been in touch 



IN THE WORLD WAR 31 



with were these organizations. To me, the few English combat troops that I 
encountered seemed a fairly decent bunch. 

It was with light hearts, then, that we pulled out of Lattre St. Quentin on 
a beautiful summer morning, at 10 o'clock, August 20th. It was only an 8 
mile hike to Tinques, a rail head on the Arras road. We turned into a big 
held and I halted the battalion while I went to find the R. T. O. in charge 
of entraining. 

All was bustle and hurry. Things were being rushed through in the 
American fashion. Nobody knew where the R. T. O. was; everybody was too 
busy to know anything. At last I saw Lt. Gibbs on top of a flat car loading 
wagons. He shouted that our train was across the platform and was due to 
leave in 20 minutes. I dashed back to the battalion, hurried it across the 
tracks, entrained them and sure enough the train pulled out just as I got +he 
outfit aboard. As I was finishing, a dapper U. S. Major of the Division 
Inspector's Dept. toddled up and said it was the worst entraining he had ever 
seen, and why weren't the men marched up to the cars in column of squads? 
I saluted the boob wearily and swung aboard just as the train pulled out. 

Now came our longest rail journey in France. For two days we bowled 
along pretty steadily. We swung around by St. Pol, with a farewell glimpse of 
our old billet, and then south, through Amiens, up to the outskirts of Paris. 
Hearts beat high, and had tbe train stopped for five minutes at a likely looking 
place, I was prepared to see the battalion make a break for la vie Parisienne. 
The only stop, however, was for a few minutes to get routing orders from a 
business-like French R. T. O. From these orders I learned that our destination 
was Passavant. It might as well have been Timbuctoo for all that meant to 
me; but I had learned by this time that these French trains, with all their 
misery and sin, did get you to the proper place at last, so I didn't worry. 

The houses of Paris fell behind, and we rolled east along the famous 
Marne river. At Haute Creuse and St. Pol we had read in the Paris editions 
of the "New York Herald" and "Daily Mail" of the desperate fighting along 
here in July, in which the mettle of our American regulars and marines had 
been put to so stern a test; and the next morning, a beautiful, bright day it 
was, too, we began to pass through towns whose names were yet ringing all 
over the world. The familiar signs of nearing the front began to appear — the 
roofless houses, shell holes, and so on. Then we began to see debris lying 
about — discarded bits of equipment and uniform, empty bandoliers, then here 
and there a new grave, marked by a helmet, and sometimes a little cross. 
Presently we went right through Chateau Thierry — one of the first trains since 
the battle. From our cars we saw the little firing posts that the Americans had 
scratched out in the side of the railroad embankment. Here and there a grave 
showed where one had died where he fought. Some German helmets over 
graves on the south side of the river showed where perhaps some of the enemy 
had gotten across before they fell under the fire of the Springfields. 

But the most impressive and inspiring sight of all to Americans were the 
hills that stretched up to the North of the river. A long steep, smooth, stretch 
broken only enough to allow of cover for reserves and machine guns — a 
position that looked absolutely impregnable if defended by modern weapons. 
And up these heights, defended by the flower of the German army, flushed with 



32 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



recent success, our countrymen had swept forward, carried the position, and 
hurled the foe back. It must have been some scrap. 

The Marne here is about as large as a good-sized American creek. There 
were quite a few deaa horses and men still bobbing around in it. The country- 
side had not been under fire for very long, compared to the Arras section; some 
crops were still standing, and a few people at work reaping them already. I 
am sorry to say that one of our men was thoughtless enough to grab a pile of 
new cut hay from a field during a stop. I happened to see him and of course 
he put it back, and got a summary out of it. I mention this to remind you 
that in most of our trouble with the French peasants we were at fault to some 
extent. Of course, it isn't pleasant to sleep for several nights on the floor of a 
jolting cattle car. But neither is it enjoyable for poor Jacques to see his hay 
miraculously preserved from the H. E.'s, laboriously gathered, and then have a 
doughboy coolly annex it and roll away in a train. 

We rolled on through the sunny August day, east to Chalons-sur-Marne, 
then southeast, away from the battle front. Night came on, and dragged along 
toward dawn. At about 2:00 A. M. we stopped at a little way station for hot 
coffee, ready for us in great G. I. boilers. The French corporal in charge of the 
station gave me a cup out of his own private pot, cooking over a smelly little 
oil stove, thick as mud, black as night, reeking with cognac, altogether very 
satisfactory. I wished every man could have had such a shot. 

Early in the morning we passed the walled heights of Chaumont, A. E. F. 
headquarters. On past the picturesque battlements of Langres, centre of the 
Army Schools; then east again. The country was more rugged and less highly 
cultivated. Here was a place where one might get off the road without step- 
ping on Jacques' garden. It looked more like home. The woods were sure 
enough ones, not little, severely confined, neatly trimmed groves such as they 
had in the north, with every tree numbered and recorded. 

Best of all, we were in the American sector. The M. P.'s at the stations 
were doughboys instead of Tommies or poilus. Here an American ambulance 
hustled along the road; there a good old 3-ton Q. M. truck lumbered along. 
Overseas caps were sprinkled about the stations. No more now of "What is 
the name of this bally station, old top?," and "Kesky eessy, Mossure." We 
could yell: "Say, buddy, what fell burg's this?" like civilized persons. 

Off on a branch line, around hills, over a long, white stone bridge, and the 
train slid up to the long platform at Passavant station. 

CHAPTER V 
"THE AMERICAN SECTOR" 



The battalion tumbled off, very greasy as to face and stiff as to legs. The 
rolling kitchens were unloaded; the Colonel and Lt. Gibbs appeared and dis- 
appeared. We saw our own supply company hard at work in the adjacent field. 
In a few minutes it was "Fall in," and we hiked across the railroad and down 
into the centre of the little town. 

At the town square we halted, and lay around for an hour in the shade 
w^aiting for our French guides to take the companies to their billets. There 



IN THE WORLD WAR 33 



was a cool fountain splashing in the center of the square, but it was marked 
"Non potable," so we had to wait until we could get some chlorinated water 
iroin our lister bags. Oh, that chlorinated water! Will we ever get the taste 
of the stuff out of our mouths? 

At last a guide came along, but only to take off "C" Co., which was billeted 
at the little village of Rochere, about 4 kilos outside Passavant. Finally our 
guide appeared, and "A" and "B" companies hiked off down a narrow street, 
skirting the great chateau, then up a long hill, under the railroad bridge, and 
into our billeting area, a little "suburb" of the town across the railroad tracks. 

At once we noticed a difference in the people. This town was far behind 
the lines. No air raids had visited it; lights could be shown at night. And 
the people seemed actually glad to see us. Instead of lowering brows, grudg- 
ing admission, furious protests, we met pleasant smiles, bon jour's, readiness 
and willingness to accommodate us. Even when we swept out the stables and 
outhouses where we were billeted there was no objection. Oh, boy, this was 
something like it! 

The rolling kitchen was put to work in a field on the outskirts, and Wilson, 
deBruin, Lusier & Co. got busy. Everyone was pretty tired, but after chow 
things looked much brighter. 

That night occurred an incident which shows how thoughtless soldiers are. 
A couple of men, who shall be nameless, patronized the estaminets far too 
freely. When they had acquired a skinful of vin rouge apiece, they went forth 
and nobly robbed a hen roost, and had a chicken dinner. 

Now had this happened a week before, there would have been immediate 
and voluble protests to the authorities, and a bill for damages as long as your 
arm. And on our side, I fear the matter would have been looked on as 
righteous retribution, and the officers would have received very little assistance 
in investigating the affair. 

But this was different. Wilson and some others found the little girl at 
their billet and her mother in tears over their loss. The offenders were 
promptly trailed and spotted, and reported to Lt. Schuyler. And nobody felt 
more ashamed than they when they woke up in the guardhouse the next morn- 
ing. Meanwhile, that same evening a hasty collection had been taken up in the 
company, and the French lady reimbursed a good many times the value of her 
loss. I understand she wouldn't take all they collected; but next day I met a 
couple of the boys, Wilson and Weber, I think, coming back from town with 
the little girl between them, proudly bearing the finest bonnet that Passavant 
"epiceries" could produce, and enough chocolate to satisfy a dozen youngsters. 

The days at Passavant were about the brightest spot in our stay in France. 
The training schedules were on hand again, of course. Chauchats were issued 
to replace the Lewis guns of the English sector; much to the disgust of the 
auto riflemen, who had worked so hard learning the Lewis, and found the 
Chauchat but a crude affair comparatively. But the weather was beautiful; 
there was a stream to wash in, and a lovely lake about a mile away where you 
could have a swim — the only time we enjoyed this luxury that summer. The 
people were pleasant; we were getting American rations; all went well. 

it was too good to last long. On August 27th we got a march order, and 
at 1:00 P. M. the next day we pulled out, down the hill to Passavant, up hill 



34 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

tlirough the town, and fell in behind the second battalion for a long, long hike 
through the summer afternoon and evening. 

Six o'clock came, and seven. Still no sign of camp. It was growing dark. 
The men were good and tired; but "B" company held to its record as the best 
marching company in the outfit, and plodded along doggedly. I felt uncom- 
fortable every time I looked back at my four platoons; I felt that I ought to be 
hiking with them instead of on the Major's horse; knowing, however, that I 
had a couple of hours hard work ahead of me after we camped, I turned back 
to the road ahead, and wished the Major were back. 

At last, at 8:00 P. M., when it was quite dark, we turned off to the left, 
crossed several fields, and came to a number of frame barracks. These had 
bunks within them — about half enough to accommodate the men, but we were 
glad to lie down anywhere. After the usual turmoil we got supper under way, 
and as fast as chow could be obtained and swallowed, we hit the hay — some in 
barracks, others in pup tents in the fields outside. We had done about 2 
kilos that day. 

The next morning we pulled out at 9 o'clock, hiked into Fresnes, the 
village nearby, and then out on a good wide road, heading generally west. The 
Colonel, who was making the hike in an automobile, had a theory that no man 
needed more than a pint of water on any march, and the march discipline was 
to be very strict. The everlasting rain started again; it was hike, hike, hike. 
Who that hasn't done it can ever understa.nd the awful, soul tearing grind of a 
long hike with full pack? After the first hour, the pack gets heavy on the 
back and shoulders. You see the feet of the fellow ahead — up and down, up 
and down, remorselessly, steadily — doesn't he ever get tired? If he can make 
u, you can. Some buckle or piece of equipment gets loose, and goes jingle, 
jingle, jingle, and slap, slap, slap against your leg. It gets irritating. You 
are sweating and hot and dirty and uncomfortable. "Close up!" You mentally 
damn the officers, who haven't any rifles; the ones who ride horses, doubly 
damned; and as for those birds in the autos — ahem! How long to the 10 
minutes rest? Then it starts to rain. It beats into your face. You damn the 
boob who wished upon the Americans that prize inanity of equipment, the over- 
seas cap. It is ingeniously designed to give the eyes and face no protection 
from sun, wind or rain, and at the same time efficiently to direct water down 
ine back of your neck. On, on, on, plod, plash, squnchy, sqush. The Major 
looks at his watch. You eye the side of the road for a likely looking place. At 
last: "Fall out t' right th' road." You stumble over and plump down on the 
ground. Oh, blessed moment! you ease the load on your shoulders; your feet 
are tingling with happiness at being off duty; after a few breaths you fish out 
a cigarette or the old pipe, and light up for a few puffs. You lean back^ — 

"Fall in!" 
Oh, murder! You know it hasn't been four minutes, let alone ten. 

Toward noon we passed through Bourbonne-les-Bains, quite a sizable town; 
and as ve went plugging along by the railroad station there was Major Odom. 
He was carried off by the Colonel in his car, but took command of the battalion 
that night, and I was glad to get back to "B" Co. 

Up that long, long, steep street we plugged along, rested, then pushed on 
well clear of the town, and halted beside a pretty green meadow in the woods 



IN THE WORLD WAR 35 



for lunch. After we finished our hard bread, corned willy and jam, and were 
lying about in heavenly idleness for a few minutes, Roy Schuyler's eye fell 
upon the bn. adjutant's horse; a dignified and rotund, rather elderly mare, 
indulging in a roll while her saddle and bridle were off. In a minute Roy was 
on the astonished beast's back. Encouraged by a couple of hearty thwacks 
from a club, Mary started on a very creditable imitation of youthful gamboling. 
It was a gallant sight for a summer afternoon. Often since, the picture has 
come back to me — the prancing horse, the laughing young rider with one hand 
in her mane, the other brandished aloft. But our time is up; Mary must resume 
her saddle, and we our packs, and off we go. 

The shadows lengthened; the sun dropped down behind the hills, and the 
long French twilight set in. Still no sign of our guides to indicate our billet 
was near. Village after village came into view, raised our hopes, and dashed 
them again as we plodded on. At last, at about 6:00 P. M., we slogged into 
Merrey. There the Colonel was waiting, in his car. He remarked cheerfully 
that he had had quite a hunt for billets, but had found a splendid spot. We 
hiked through the village, and turned off the road into the splendid spot — a 
pine grove, very wet and rooty as to floor, and no water around. We were 
satisfied to get off our feet, however. After the usual procedure of getting 
kicked out of X company's area, and kicking Y company out of ours, we rigged 
up shelter tents or sleeping bags. Of course the water carts weren't on hand, 
and dinner was held up. There are two recurrent occasions in a soldier's life 
when the seconds drag most fearsomely; the interval between a shell's landing 
and bursting; and the interval between the end of a hike and chow. 

Some of the boys went off to wash their feet in a pretty little pond a couple 
of fields away. That pond concealed some dark secret beneath its placid bosom. 
Whew! Didn't it stink when disturbed? 

At reveille we rolled out of our blankets, pretty stiff and cold, but rested. 
Packs were rolled again, and we fell in at 9:00 A. M., Major Odom again com- 
manding the battalion, and were off on the last lap. This was to be a short 
one, only about five miles. We passed a large field with a number of Boche 
prisoners at work, and at about 11:00 A. M. crossed a railroad, turned off the 
road to the right, and came upon a cantonment just outside of Breuvannes, 
where the battalion was billeted. 

While these frame barracks were not so picturesque as other billets we 
had had, they were infinitely better adapted to our uses. There were bunks for 
all, mess halls, a parade ground large enough to form the battalion, and a fine 
level drill field near by, along the railroad track. A good sized creek ran close 
by, and Breuvannes was only 5 minutes walk away. A pretty enough little 
village, with five or six stores and estaminets. Also there was a Y hut, where 
you could see movies at night if you got there soon enough. 

The 42d Division had been here until the day before, resting and replacing 
their losses from the fighting in July. A bn. of the 5th Marines had preceded 
them, and that evening I ran across a Marine lieutenant who was following up 
his outfit. My own alma mater, the Virginia Military Institute, furnished a 
number of officers to the Marines, and I was particularly interested in news 
from them. This oflicer told me of the death of several of my old school fellows 
at Belleau Woods. When he said that only one in ten had come through out 



36 COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 

of his own company, however, I thought he was pulling a long bow. 

The next morning, August 31, we resumed the familiar drill schedules. 
Every effort was made to teach the use and mechanism of the new Chauchats. 
Special training went on as usual, and we practiced the formations of the 
O. C. S. U. (Offensive Combat of Small Units) on all the bushes and trees 
in the vicinity. 

Barney O'Rourke and I spent one day on a pilgrimage to Bourmont, where 
the courtmartial heretofore referred to took place; Barney quite prepared to be 
shot at sunrise, and I suspect a little disappointed at the affair ending so 
undramatically. 

The drill field furnished a very fair base ball diamond, and several inter- 
company contests were staged. We played one ten-inning thriller with "A" 
Co., in which Joe Fahey finally pitched us to victory, supported by an able 
cast. We had the makings of a good foot ball team under way, too, and I 
remember I had most of the skin off my right arm. But more serious business 
was on hand, and our athletic activities had to be temporarily laid aside. 

On Sept. 4, we prepared to move. The battalion was formed at dusk, and 
at 9:U0 P. M. we filed off for our first night march in France. It started rain- 
ing promptly, of course. Wasn't it dark! In an hour you literally could not 
see your hand an inch before your nose. No lights or smoking were allowed; 
and even a chew was risky, as you never knew who you'd hit when you let fly. 
Now and then a glimmer of light from some cottage fire would show the 
shadowy forms of the last squad of "C" Co. in front, hastening on into the 
darkness. I walked into an ungainly quadruped and requested the rider to get 
his damned mule out of the road; and was immediately and discourteously 
informed that I had better keep my mouth shut and drive on. I recognized 
Major Odom's voice and drove on. 

Rain, hike, rain, slog, mud, mud, sweat, damn. Halt and fall out and sit 
in the mud for ten minutes and feel the rain percolate. Fall in, and hike 
again, your cold, wet clothes clinging to you. 

Eight weary hours of this. At last, just before daybreak, we turned off 
the road through the gateway of a once palatial estate, and hiked across a park 
to a grove where we were billeted. The fifteen miles we had 
covered seemed like 30. We were done in enough to fall asleep, many without 
unrolling their packs. The rain, however, found us out, trickled in at every 
corner, and morning found us miserable enough. 

No word was vouchsafed to us as to when we should move again; and this 
playing at secrecy cost "D" and "C" Cos. their meal. It was more luck than 
good management that gave me the hunch to rout out our weary cooks and 
have chow at 11:00 o'clock. At 12:00 o'clock orders came in a great hurry 
that we were to clear the cross roads at 2:30. We did it at 3:00. 

Our new lieutenant-colonel, Arthur Budd, had joined us the night before. 
During the first halt Lt. Foulkes came galloping up on old Mary, and his former 
platoon — the first — chortled with glee every time daylight showed between 
Louis and the saddle. Col. Budd promptly treated me to a cold and fishy 
star6, and inquired if it was the custom for "B" Co. to yell at officers when they 
passed. I hastily delivered a brief resume of Louis' career with the company 
and the estimation in which we held him, intimating that he was regarded as 



iN THE WORLD WAR 37 



one helofa good fellow, and that no mutiny was breaking out. Meanwhile I had 
hastily sized up our new acquisition as a goof. I had reason to revise this 
estimate, and that shortly. 

The rain let up this evening, for a wonder, and the march wasn't half bad, 
except for the mud underfoot, which we were pretty well used to. We passed 
by a sizeable cantonment of Chinese labor troops, and Diskin wanted to fall out 
and leave his laundry. We had only the most vague idea of where we were; in 
fact, our notions of French geography were of the crudest anyhow. Bill Reid, 
from his six-foot eyrie, solemnly announced that he saw the Alps ahead, and 
had the 1st platoon craning its respective necks for an hour. 

Just as darkness fell, we ran into an ammunition train, the tail end of the 
42d Division. We pushed on behind them up a hill into the village of Viocourt, 
where our old dependable of the advance party, Sgt. Hill, met us and pointed 
out our billets, in lofts and stables on both sides of the "street." 

We all knew pretty well by now that we must be in for action soon. 
The St. Mihiel salient meant nothing more to us than it did to folks at home 
then. The general impression was that it was to be a drive on Metz; and this 
wasn't so far out of the way, at that. 

By this time it didn't take us long to make ourselves at home in a strange 
place. We had bagged a good place for the rolling kitchen, and the billets 
weren't so bad. Between showers we got in some drilling, and a couple of 
hours on an extemporized 30-yard range that Lt. Schuyler put up one morning 
before breakfast. Everyone tried his hand at the Chauchat for a magazine full. 
This was the only chance we had to fire this gun before we had to meet the 
enemy with it. The men armed with pistols punctured a few tin cans after a 
vast expenditure of lead. 

There was a beautiful meadow below town, and on Sunday, the 8th, we 
staged a couple of good ball games. On Monday we had a company problem 
through the woods beyond the meadow, and Tuesday we got in the target 
practice. 

Wednesday morning the Major assembled the Co. cmdrs. and ordered us 
to be ready to march at 1:30. After the usual bustle all was ready for the 
road, two days' rations being carried. Our kitchen and cooks were attached to 
the regt'l supply train. 

It had been raining all the morning, but old J. Pluvius had only been prac- 
tising for the real show. We started off in a steady downpour, which speedily 
became a regular deluge. The wind rose to a gale, which drove the sheets of 
water directly at us, penetrating right through slickers and clothing. In 15 
minutes we were all wet to the skin. 

It was only an hour's march this time. At 3:00 P. M., we came to a cross 
roads just outside Chatenois. There stood a long line of motor trucks, stretch- 
ing away in either direction as far as the eye could see. The embussing was 
well handled, and in 20 minutes we were packed in, 20 or more to a truck, 
jammed as tight as they could be, every man wet through and chilled. Even 
our incorrigibly optimistic regimental history says, "We shall never forget 
this day because of its miserable and nasty weather." 

These busses were driven by Chinese in the French service. With their 
impassive Oriental faces looking out over their great sheepskin coats, they 



38 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



looked fitting agents of destiny; grave Charons, bearing us on the last lap of 
our progress toward our fate. 

At 4:00 o'clock we were off, with a jerk and a clank of gears and a steady 
rumble. On and on, over the long French road, rolling on through rain and 
wind, steadily, inevitably; each lorry nearly touching the one in front. Dark- 
ness fell; the long gray train rolled on, not a light, not a sound save the rumble 
of the trucks. We got colder and colder; more and more cramped. Capt. 
Fleischmann and I spent most of the night each cherishing the other's icy feet 
in his bosom. On and on, through gray, silent tov/ns, past the ghostly figure 
of a lonely M. P. at a crossroads; through fields, woods, villages, all wet and 
quiet in the falling rain. 

Just as the daylight began to thin the inky mist, the train halted, and the 
word was passed along the line to debus. Wet, shivering, miserable, "B" Co. 
struggled hastily into clammy shoes and slung their heavy, soggy packs. As 
we formed on the side of the road, the busses started again, and rolled swiftly 
off into the shadows ahead, leaving us on the road, with heavy woods on 
either side. 

We marched down the road to an open field on the left. Here a railroad 
track entered the corner of the wood. We turned off up the track, and about 
300 yards along we came upon the 2nd battalion bivouacking. We went on 
just beyond them, and were allotted our own share of squshy ground and 
drenched underbrush. 

A limited number of fires were allowed, and we made ourselves as com- 
fortable as we could under the circumstances. I was detailed on O. D. and 
spent a busy day dissuading the regiment from straggling all over the road and 
open fields. All knev/ that a big attack was in preparation, and that it was 
important that the concentration be kept under cover from the enemy's air- 
craft. But some men apparently couldn't compree that we weren't roosting in 
that bally old dysentery generator of a wood for sheer sport. 

Showers fell intermittently during the day, but nothing like the previous 
day's deluge. At about 4 P. M. there was an officers' call, and we were warned 
to march at 7 P. M. Co. Commanders were issued maps, and we learned that 
our present bivouac v/as in the Bois de la Cote en Haye, east of Tremblecourt. 

About 5 P M., six French tanks came clanking down the road, did a 
Squads Left, waddled across the fields and disappeared over the brow of the 
hill, toward the rumble of intermittent artillery fire in the distance that meant 
the front. 

The 312th Inf. was bivouacked on the other side of the railroad track, and 
the rest of the division was hidden in the woods near by. Across the main road 
was a great artillery ammunition dump, big enough to blow up ten divisions if 
a bomb ever hit it. But I kept this to myself, and what a soldier doesn't know 
doesn't worry him. He has enough to worry about anyhow. 

The kitchens came up late in the afternoon, and we got outside of a ration 
of hot slum before dark. 

By 6:45 P. M. we had rolled packs, and were ready to hit the road again. 
I went to sleep on the ground, with my pack on my back, and was awakened by 
Dunn to find it nearly dark, and the battalion ready to move off. 

It seemed hours before we got out of the wood into the open field. We 



IN THE WORLD WAR 39 



would go forward a few steps along the track, and then stand and wait for ten 
or fifteen minutes. The road by which we had arrived was crowded with 
transport and artillery, and we turned off on a bypath through the woods. It 
was now quite dark, and blind work it was blundering along, touching the man 
ahead to keep from losing him, slipping and tripping in the wet underbrush. It 
is remarkable how exasperating a pack and rifle become under such circum- 
stances. However, the excitement of anticipation buoyed us up, and "B" Co. 
wallowed through the wood, across a mushy field, and scrambled up a slippery 
embankment on to a strange road, much more cheerfully than now seems 
possible. 

Once re-formed on said road, we hiked along briskly in column of squads. 
Soon we overtook a long column of transport wagons, trucks and artillery. 
Road discipline was something apparently unknown; every vehicle seemed to 
be trying to pass every other one. The consequence" was of course wondrous 
confusion, and here and there a total jam, through which we had to thread 
our way in single or double file as best we could. 

When we got clear of the last jam, the company ahead had gained about 
15 yards, and was consequently as completely out of sight as if they had been 
in Timbuctoo. We passed through a village in hot pursuit of them. At the 
crossroads, by sheer good luck I turned off up the right one. After a long 
hour's stern chase we were relieved to see the bobbing forms of Headquarters 
Co. show through the gloom ahead. 

At about 10:30 we came upon Sgt. Hill waiting for us by the roadside, 
with the welcome news that our temporary destination was only a couple of 
kilos off. We toiled up a long hill, and turned off the macadam into a rough 
road that was a series of four inch ponds. We plashed along to the edge of a 
large wood, and Hill showed us a pile of empty bandoliers and boxes, where 
the Marines had been issued ammunition and grenades about an hour before. 
They had just pulled out, and were going over the top at dawn. 

A hundred yards or so, and we turned into the woods, on a road which was 
from ankle to knee deep in all varieties of mud, from sticky to liquid. We 
moved on, stumbled over a railroad track, and finally Hill said we were at our 
bivouac. The trees and underbrush grew so thick along the road that we 
blundered about a bit before we found a couple of places where we could force 
our way through. As each man reached a place where he could sit or lie down, 
down he flopped, and the rest of the company walked over him. The woods 
already had some occupants, and more and more poured in every minute. 

At last "B" Co. had distributed itself on the ground, and was preparing 
for a dismal wallow until morning. In spite of wet, mud and chill some were 
already asleep. We were just within the artillery zone, and the jar and 
grumble of the guns ahead was occasionally punctuated by the roar and scream 
of one of the heavies nearer by. This, however, was only normal artillery fire, 
such as we had been accustomed to at St. Pol and Lattre St. Quentin, and we 
settled down to wait for the big show. Some of the more energetic started to 
pitch their pup tents. 

Just as I dozed off, some idiot shouted "Gas!" Our long hours of gas 
drill, and many vivid and gruesome lectures on the subject, promptly bore 
fruit. In fact, the good soed shot up like Jack's beanstalk. The cry was re- 



4 COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 

echoed by a dozen, then a score of startled voices. Everyone reached into the 
familiar canvas satchel that he cherished on his bosom, donned his mask more 
or less expeditiously, and sat expectantly awaiting developments. 

In the midst of the rumpus I heard Lt. Foulkes' voice from the road 
bawling for the company commanders. I thought sadly that the lad had prob- 
ably lost his mask, or the gas had caught him suddenly and he was raving. 
However, for sake of auld lang syne. I took a long breath, and shouted, 
"Whatsmatterwhydontyouputonyourmask?" I replaced my mouthpiece, and 
started blundering toward Louis' voice, hoping I might be in time at least to 
view his remains. 

During the next two minutes I walked on every man in "B" Co. at least 
once, and probably on most of "A" and "C" Cos. Then Foulkes roared my 
name within Ave yards of me. 

"Where's the gas?" I demanded. 

There wasn't any gas. 

CHAPTER VI 
ST. MIHIP^L AXD LIMEY SECTOR 



The Major was waiting for us up the "road." He informed us that the 
156th Brigade was the alert brigade. We were not to pitch tents nor unroll 
packs, but lie on our arms ready to reinforce the front line division should 
occasion demand it. The barrage was due to start at 1 A. M.; at 5 A. M. the 
infantry was to go over the top. 

I waded back with this gladsome news, and we lay in the mud and wet 
leaves and shivered and wished we could smoke, and waited for the show to 
start. Word had passed that there was a big French railroad gun about 30 
yards away, and a pleasant time was anticipated by all. 

At 1 A. M. the sullen jar of the usual cannonade was shattered by a 
tremendous crash. And that crash lasted solid for four hours. I shall not try 
to describe a real A-1 barrage to men who have been there. 

The railroad gun came across according to plan too. Every five minutes 
her mighty roar and scream would announce the departure of a G. I. can 
towards Metz, and then would come the clanking of the cars as the recoil drove 
the train back along the track against the logs piled behind it. After an hour 
or so we got accustomed to the barrage and the glare that lit up the sky ahead; 
but as often as we drowsed off, the thunder of this mighty gun would shake the 
earth beneath us, and jar us into consciousness. 

The night wore on, and the gray morning light crept into the woods; and 
still the thunder rolled unceasing. I watched the glow of my wrist watch 
hand creep to five o'clock. There was a slight lull as the artillery shifted to 
their rolling barrage schedule. Then she started up again with renewed fury. 
We knew the doughboys were off. The A. E. F. was starting its first show on 
its own. The overture was over, the fiery curtain raised, the act begun; and 
we were awaiting our cue. 

Morning broke, cloudy, but little or no rain, and about 7 o'clock it quite 
cleared off. We made ourselves as comfortable as we could, and prayed for our 
kitchen. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 41 



I went wading through the mud along the road to look for it. There were 
several Marines about, belonging to the skeleton organization, left behind to act 
as a nucleus in case a whole outfit was wiped out. I passed a Marine lieutenant 
whose face looked familiar, and after a moment recognized "Happy" Mason. 
He had been a cadet at V. M. I. with me, and had helped me wind a red silk 
sash' around my middle for many a dress parade. It was a far cry from the 
Blue Ridge to the Bois de la Rappe, and from dress parade to the St. Mihiel 
drive. 

We had a glad reunion there in the mud, and he invited the "B" Co. 
otticers to share his breakfast. Their rolling kitchen, or "galley" as they called 
it, was on hand, and they had hot coffee and peach turnovers! 

Those Marines were regular guys. When they heard our transport wasn't 
up yet, they turned to and fed as many of our men as they could, until their 
supply ran out. They had been through the mill before, at Chateau Thierry 
and Belleau Wood. As one of them said "Better help the other fellow now. 
'J'omorrow's a hell of a way off here." 

The Marines have had an awful lot of joshing, of course, about their press 
agent stuff — "Ace high with the Satevepost," and so on. But these were cer- 
tainly a fine bunch, and gave us a lift when we needed it. Naturally, those of 
them who did the fighting did the least of the blowing about it afterward. 

The sun came out to look at the battle after awhile, and we got warmed 
and partially dried. Also the kitchen arrived, and a hot dinner was in 
prospect. 

About 11 A. M. bulletins began arriving from the front, and were read out 
to us. All objectives were being taken according to schedule, and the number 
of prisoners and guns captured mounted by leaps and bounds. We were not 
allowed out of the woods, but even from the trees on the outskirts one couldn't 
see much except a great cloud of smoke and dust slowly rolling up the slope 
of a range of distant hills. 

The wet, exposure and irregular eating of half cooked food had already 
started to tell on us. Dysentery was appearing; nearly all the company 
suffered with constant diarrhoea from this time on. 

The afternoon dragged on; still no call for the alert brigade. We were 
allowed to pitch pup tents, but no fires were allowed; the wood was too wet 
and smoky. 

Night fell; we crawled into whatever shelter we had, and surreptitiously 
smoked, and talked, and listened to the rumble of the guns until we got to 
sleep. 

At about 1:30 A. M. a battalion runner fell over my feet and lit on Lt. 
Dunn. After a few hasty remarks we stopped for breath, and were informed 
that the battalion was to form on the road right away. Stiff and sleepy, I 
stumbled out into the dank night, routed out Chiaradro, my staunch little run- 
ner and striker, and broke the glad news to Robbins and the company runners. 
The woods were soon in a bustle as we rolled packs, donned equipment, and 
hied out by platoons into the mud of the road. 

By 2 A. M. the battalion was standing ankle deep in the slushy mud in 
column of squads, the Major at our head. Half an hour passed. Not a sound 
except an occasional "su-luck-slosh," as someone shifted his heavy pack, or 



4 2 COMPANY B, 31ITH INFANTRY, 

tried in vain to find a less liquid footing. The leaden minutes dragged by. 
Three o'clock; no move. Half past four — the company ahead moved off, and 
we sloshed along behind, but only to the edge of the wood. Dawn broke — 
another gray and misty dawn. Oh, that awful wait in that awful hole! It was 
quite light before, at 5 o'clock, we finally moved out, and, splashing and 
sliding over a muddy field, finally hit the road and were off toward the scene 
of action. 

As we were stretching the kinks out of our legs on a fairly good road, we 
passed a U. S. Coast Artillery outfit; a 12-inch gun. Some of the crew came 
out to the roadside from the emplacement, and Capt. O'Brien recognized his 
old outfit, in which he had served as an enlisted man years before. 

On we go toward the distant booming of the guns. We wind around 
hills, hike across a valley, over another long hill. Then the road runs along the 
bottom of a long, long valley. During the ten minute rests we snatch a hasty 
breakfast from our reserve rations, with growls from those who don't get in 
on the jam. 

Now we begin to see traces of the battle — an overturned wagon, abandoned 
in the ditch; a train of ammunition trucks crossing the road ahead of us; a 
motor truck repair shop, hastily set up in a little cabin along the road, from 
which came a smell of hot coffee that tantalized our cold stomachs. Further 
on we passed a field hospital; great white tents pitched in a sheltered dell, 
with red crosses glaring on the tent flies. 

At the next halt, a Ford ambulance came down the muddy road with a 
load of wounded. It stopped by us, and the driver went around behind to see 
to one of the occupants. The canvas curtain was pushed aside from the top, 
and a head lolled out — a face of ghastly yellow paste, surrounded by dirty 
light brown hair. The poor chap was evidently badly gassed. He retched 
violently time and again, spat out some blood, stared vacantly at us with 
glassy, miserable eyes. The driver put the head inside with a kindly "All right, 
buddy; nearly there now;" and the old Henry started off again with a jerk, 
and a groan from within. 

As we resumed the march, a youngster from the 5th Division overtook us. 
He wore an M. P.'s brassard, and no equipment but a .4 5 and a canteen. We 
with our heavy packs and ammunition envied him. He was sleepy eyed and 
jaded, but still enthusiastic. Ever since the drive started he had been on the 
job escorting prisoners from front line division headquarters to the pens in the 
rear. 

By 9 o'clock we had done twelve miles under our full pack, ammunition, 
and two days rations, with a breakfast of a little corned willy and hard bread 
and chlorinated water; the whole preceded by three hours' standing in eight 
inches of liquid mud. We felt pretty well done in, for a fact. The auto 
riflemen were the worst off, having their heavy Chauchats and several big 
magazines of ammunition besides. One of them lightened his load by the 
ingenious means of "forgetting" his bag of magazines at a halt. When Lt. 
Schuyler discovered it, the culprit was promptly accommodated with a double 
dose to carry. 

But this was the exception. As I shifted about, hiking first with one 
platoon and then another, I always found a set of determined grins, and a 



IN THE WORLD WAR 43 



cheerful "Oh, we're all right. How's the rabble up ahead?" 

We had been passing through the rear area of the former Allied sector. 
Now and again a trench system — trenches, barbed wire, emplacements, all 
complete — stretched away on either hand. Here and there were great stretches 
of barbed wire filling gullies and ravines. 

At 10 o'clock we crossed a stone bridge and started up a long, long hill. 
At the top we found that we were on a ridge that had been the front line 
before the attack. Shell holes covered the whole place. To our left, the ground 
fell away in a long dip, and we saw the ground over which the first wave had 
attacked. The battle was now far away over the horizon. 

For a couple of kilos we hiked along the road on top of the ridge. It had 
already been repaired roughly, and all sorts of traffic was passing over it. Once 
it had been bordered with trees, set at regular intervals, like most self respect- 
ing French roads. Now only a shattered, blasted stump stood here and there. 

A few men began to straggle from the outfits ahead, but "B" Co. stuck to 
it gamely. On that day not a man fell out. 

Now we drew near a large barbed wire enclosure filled with men. It was 
a P. W. pen, where prisoners were collected on their way to the rear. A couple 
of detachments of them were going In as we came by. 

We turned off here to the left, toward the front. About a kilo down this 
road we hit a traflBc jam — a regular one. This road was badly cut up, and poor 
road discipline soon did the rest. Some truck or ambulance had tried to pass 
another, and both had stalled. Others, arriving from both directions, instead 
of lining up behind on the right of the road, pressed up as far as they could 
go, until the road was so completely jammed that even we on foot could not 
get through. Belts of barbed wire that ran up to the road on either side 
prevented us from going around. So there we were. 

It was a most cosmopolitan collection. French 7 5's, Ford ambulances, a 
general's Cadillac, rubbed shoulders with lumbering lorries, sturdy steel 
ammunition Quads, and limbers. A French transport wagon driver cracked his 
long whip and argued volubly with the chauffeur of a tank, who spat and re- 
garded him contemplatively. Field kitchens, huddled in the jam, held the 
food that was so desperately needed up front. 

At last a Colonel of Marines blew in from somewhere, and plunged into 
the mess. He got it thinned out enough for us to filter through on the out- 
skirts. And then — Glory be — we turned off the road into an open space, with 
no barbed wire and comparatively few shell holes. Here we found part of the 
312th Inf., and the battalion stacked arms and fell out. 

We slipped off our packs, and fell to on monkey meat and hard bread with 
a will. The sun had come out, and we lay around and soon got warm and dry, 
and felt nearly human again. 

All too soon we fell in, and set off again. We threaded our way across 
the jam — now nearly as bad as ever — and spent the afternoon drifting down a 
little valley at right angles to the road we had just left. Nobody seemed to 
know just where we were going, or why. We heard later that a jumbled order 
somewhere between Division and Brigade Hdqs. had caused us to spend this 
day in a wild goose chase. 

The Colonel and Regt'l Hdq. had not been seen since the morning. We 



44 COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 

liiUed a l''\v hundred yards, waited awhile, then moved on a bit again. We 
passed, and were in turn passed by artillery, supply trains, infantry. We 
sweated and chal'od under our burdens, and wondered what fell, but supposed 
it was all part ot the game. 

At last, about 6 P. M., we came to the head of the valley. There we 
spied the Colonel and his car, on a road up on the top of the hill. We climbed 
up to the road, pushing a stalled rolling kitchen ahead of us. We were urged 
lo "Step out," and showed our military discipline and Christian forbearance by 
not saying what we thought of this request. We got on a good road that led 
over the hill and up toward the front. Along this we hiked a little way, then 
turned off to the left, and up a lumber road that led straight up the hill into 
the woods. It was nearly dark; the road was so steep that I could never 
understand how six inches of liquid mud stayed on it. The climb up this road 
soon put our feet into their usual muddy and wet condition. We turned off 
into the woods, the Bois de Hoquemont, and were told that we would bivouac 
here for the night. 

Our kitchens pulled up along the main road shortly, and the cooks, tired 
as they were, got to work at once. The rations consisted mostly of dehydrated 
vegetables. They say they are good if you can soak theru for twenty-four 
hours. A stew and coffee were soon under way. 

I toiled back up the hill and found a message to report at once to the 
regt'l commander. On a hunch, I had Schuyler get a detail out and bring up 
the chow right away. Sure enough, at the officers' meeting we were ordered 
to make combat packs and be ready to move again in twenty minutes. We 
.iiot our coffee and slum, though; and the half cooked stuff tasted pretty good 
at that. 

Then we again donned our equipment, and plashed down the sloppy road 
on wear-y feet. The night was very dark, and the road, as usual, jammed with 
transport, our kitchens among others. As we thr-eaded our way through, we 
got mixed up somehow with a company of Marines going in the same direction. 
Finally the jam thinned out, and we turned off on another road, though we 
had to sort out B company and the Marines almost man by man. And so we 
plodded on. 

It is remarkable how much a man can do after he thinks he is all in. We 
picked 'em up and put 'em down for three hours. At last we drew near some 
woods. Our orders were lo proceed to Bois d'Euvezin and bivouac, arrd show 
no lights. Well, we couldn't see a map, and didn't know where we were on 
one anyhow, so this wood looked pretty good. At any rate, we turned off the 
road and headed for it. 

Easy enough for a staff officer to look at a map and say, "Bivouac in these 
woods." Unfortunately, there was a 30 foot belt of wire fringing this particular 
one. Orders are orders, though, so we scrambled through somehow, and 
pushed in far enough to hide from any further marching orders that night. 
Then we flopped down, any place at all, and dropped off. 

It seemed but a couple of minutes before the sun came prying through the 
leaves and under my eyelids. I rolled over, and saw Lt. Col. Budd, sitting up 
with his back against a tr-ee, wrapped in his trench coat — no better off than 
we were. Right away my morale went up. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 45 



An American outfit is never so weary that it doesn't furnish a tew inquis- 
itive souls. Already curiosity was driving the doughboys out of the woods, by 
two's and three's, to see what was around. Just over a knoll they found a 
little fragment of history. A German machine gun, cunningly camouflaged; 
across it the body of a big "Feldwebel," or German top sergeant, with a 
bayonet wound through his body; a couple of yards away a dead Marine, 
riddled with machine gun bullets, still grasping his rifle with the bloody 
bayonet fixed. 

At 9 A. M. the outfit was rounded up, and we were off again. As we 
plugged along the road in column of squads we thought with some disgust of 
the night marches we had made a hundred kilos behind the lines. Fortunately 
this hike was short. In an hour we entered another and larger wood, the 
Eois d'Euvezin sure enough, this time. Here we found the rest of the brigade, 
and bivouacked in the woods just off the road. 

The woods were full of German dugouts, evacuated by the enemy only a 
day or so before. Most of these were preempted by various headquarters. We 
settled down to make the most of our rest. For a wonder the sun was out; and 
despite the mud under foot, we were soon fairly warm and dry — and oh, how 
hungry! It was well along in the afternoon before the water carts pulled in, 
though, and we got our hot slum and coffee. 

The Y. M. C. A. kicked through with a canteen, and after some trouble in 
keeping the men from mobbing the place crackers, chocolate and tobacco were 
sold. 

That night our gas training blossomed forth again. The Boche dropped a 
couple of shells around and our over-anxious sentries promptly bawled "Gas!" 
The alarm would be taken up and spread through the brigade, and by the time 
things quieted down they were off again. We finally got some sleep by the 
primitive but effective expedient of promising to blow the head off the next 
guy that raised the cry. 

Next day a great bunch of orders were dumped on me to read — all about 
the new censorship regulations. After wading through these, the officers were 
summoned to go up on a reconnoitering party to look over the sector which 
we were to take over that night. 

We set out, and after a couple of hours' stiff hiking arrived at a very 
elaborate system of dugouts, in the edge of a wood, the Bois St. Claude. Here 
was the Regt'l Hdq. of the 61st Infantry, 5th Division, which we were to 
relieve. About five hundred meters north lay the little village of Vieville-en- 
Haye. Descriptions of this charming hamlet are superfluous, as we all had 
plenty of opportunity to contemplate it thereafter. 

It was early afternoon, and the Boche was behaving rather well; only 
occasionally slamming an .88 into the village in a perfunctory sort of way. 
From the northeast, however, came an intermittent crackle of rifle and machine 
gun firing, where the outposts were snarling and chattering away at each other. 

We sat around for an hour while the regt'l hdq's made their arrangements. 
I found out that the C. O. of the 61st was an old friend of my father's — his 
father had been in my father's company at V. M. I. in the Civil War. 

At last the dope filtered down to the Co. Cmdrs., and we were given ten 
minutes to reconnoiter our positions. We then had to make haste back to the 



4 6 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



regiment, so that we could be ready to start again at dark. Packs were made, 
the platoons gathered together, and at 7:30 P. M. we filed out onto the road 
and were off on the last lap of our journey to the battle line. 

Hardly were we clear of the woods when we halted, for some unknown 
reason. We sat and lay on the grass by the roadside, among shell holes, and 
listened to the drone of air planes above us. It was an eerie, ominous sound; 
and though we were pretty sure the motors were not the deep voiced monsters 
of the enemy, still we were relieved when they drew off without dropping any 
H. E. into our midst. 

In half an hour we started, this time in earnest. It was rough going, and 
blind work at best. We stumbled up a ravine, out onto a road, skirted a wood 
lined with artillery, and so drew near our position south of Vieville-en-Haye. 

The 1st battalion was in support, the 2nd holding the front line, and the 
3rd brigade reserve. I never did know where the battalion was that we 
were relieving. A and B Cos., however, were to hold the crest of a slight swell 
of the ground about 300 meters south of the village. Trenches there were 
none; but there were plenty of shell holes, and the company was posted so as to 
command the terrain in front with Chauchat and rifle fire; two or three men to 
a shell hole. The 4th platoon found a little stretch of trench which they 
improved for themselves. A Co. was on our left; C and D Cos. were posted 
about 7 00 meters to our right rear, behind Regt'l Hdq. 

We had gotten pretty well settled, when just before dawn a battalion 
runner came up, with the cry that haunted me day and night, "Commanding 
Ofhcer, B Co." Hard on his heels came the Major. Two companies of the 2nd 
battalion had lost their way and were temporarily missing, and B Co. was to 
go up and hold the line of resistance at once. 

So B Co. was routed out of Its bivvies, and donned packs and ammunition, 
and set off in double file. I was to report to the C. O. of the 61st Inf. front 
line battalion at Vieville. 

We hiked down to the road, and up to where the houses began; then 
through a spacious barn, climbing over a dead horse, and arriving finally at 
the northern outskirts of the town. Not finding the Bn. Hdq. I had the com- 
pany take what cover they could in the road and barn while the Major and I 
strolled up to the top of the hill beyond to have a look 'round. 

Near the top of this long hill were two German concrete pill boxes, nicely 
turfed over. We found one of these occupied as a first aid post; in the other 
we found a machine gun company hdq. Nobody knew any dope about where 
we were wanted, but they said that Bn. Hdq. was about a kilo away to the right. 

Just then Heinle started his morning strafe of Vieville-en-Haye. Three or 
four whiz bangs came hurtling over our heads, and landed in the east end of 
the village, right where B Co. was lying. I saw no necessity of our doing a 
Casablanca, and hastily obtained permission from the Major to take B Co. back 
to its former position until we knew where to go. As I shuffled down the hill, 
hitting the dirt now and then when one landed close by, I chanced to look 
back just in time to see a shell hit the first aid pillbox and pivot it neatly 
around, so that the door faced us instead of the enemy. It didn't take long to 
start B Co. toward our bivvies, very much disgusted with the morning's work, 
but glad to stop playing target for a while Fortunately, no one was hit. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 47 



The 2nd Battalion located its wandering sheep later in the day, so we 
were not called on for that errand again. 

The regiment's task was now to organize and strengthen our sector of the 
line. The main line of resistance, as indicated on the map, was being held and 
dug in by three Cos. of the 2nd Battalion, H Co. holding the outpost line about 
two kilos in advance. 

Our kitchens were established in the woods behind Regt'l Hdq., and 
started work on the old standby, slum. The rough roads leading into these 
woods were all ankle deep in mud, and the ration detail wasn't any bed of 
roses. 

The day we spent in deepening our bivvies as best we could, though our 
intrenching tools made little impression on the hard and stony ground. Who- 
ever salvaged a man-sized pick or shovel was lucky. While it was light, we 
kept down under cover as much as possible, for the German observation 
balloons were peeping sinisterly over the horizon, and we didn't care about 
drawing attention to our position. 

On Wednesday, September 18th, at about 1 P. M., A and B Cos. received 
orders to report to the Engineer Dump at 368.3-240.3, as a working party. 
Several enemy observation balloons were up, and it was a clear afternoon; but 
orders were orders, and off we filed. 

At the dump we met an Engineer Lieutenant — very stout, very bullheaded 
and very incompetent. I asked where we were to work, and he replied he 
didn't know — over there somewhere — pointing in the general direction of 
Germany. Having had enough of that sort of business in the morning, I told 
him to toddle right off and find out where he was to take us. He got quite 
huffy at this, but finally set out, and returned with some definite information. 
We drew picks and shovels, and hiked away after him; I being forced to hurt 
his importance again by refusing to march the company along in single file on 
the sky line. 

Our task was to dig a communication trench, already taped out, from the 
point where the line of resistance entered the Bois Gerard back over the brow 
of the hill. The first platoon was in plain view of the enemy's observation 
balloon, the other three were just behind the rise. 

We posted sentinels, and set to work, absolutely out in the open, no cover 
save a few shell holes. For ten minutes we dug. Then it came. A whistle, 
scream and slam, just over the hill; another; then a fierce, deadly whir, right 
in our ears. We hit the dirt, and a second later Lt. Dunn called to me "Captain, 
there's a man killed here and I don't know how many wounded." 

For an instant of horror the company gazed at the spot. I sent Sgt. Hill 
to the first aid pillbox for stretchers, put the others to work again, and hastened 
up to see the situation. The shell had landed just between the 1st and 2nd 
platoons. Lt. Schuyler was already having the wounded carried into the edge 
of the woods nearby, and had the rest of the 1st platoon take cover there. 
Poor O'Hara was lying dead right by the shell hole. It had burst nearly under- 
neath him, and a fragment of shell had torn its way through his temple and 
right out through his steel helmet. His brains were oozing out through 
the hole. 

Seeing that nothing could be done for him, I went over to the woods. 



4 8 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Lester Farry, our mechanic, as fine a man as ever walked, was sitting up 
between Lt. Schuyler and Sgt. Reid, with a big hole in the side of his head. 
He never uttered a word of complaint; just sat still while they bandaged it; and 
the stretchers came up and took him off. He died in hospital six days later. 

Curcio had a great hole in the upper part of his leg. Donohue had an ugly 
bit of shell in his back, and Bogucki, Fielding, and Hauber were wounded, but 
Jess seriously. 

This was a nasty introduction to shell fire, because the whole company 
saw the thing happen. Their behaviour, however, was excellent. Doggedly 
the men continued at the work, and soon we had enough cover to at least be in 
while the shells burst near by. 

Our gallant friend, the Engineer Lieutenant, had promptly vanished, and 
I never saw him again. I withdrew the first and second platoons behind the 
hill, and we kept on the job until 6 P. M., as ordered. At about 5:30, A Co. 
came along over the hill, and the Heinies sped them on their way with a few- 
gas shells, which made ihem scamper. 

As we turned in our shovels at the dump, every man mustered up a grin 
as he passed by; and though it had been one hell of a party, the old morale 
was still on deck. 

On the top of the knoll where our position was, the Germans had had an 
anti aircraft gun, gaudily camouflaged. Some cooks from an artillery outfit 
had found a lot of ammunition belonging to it, and, dragging it into Vieville, 
had amused themselves during the day by shooting Fritz's own H. E. in his 
general direction. This apparently annoyed Fritz; and just as I got back to 
our bivvies at the tail of B Co., two ash cans — whoppers — arrived at the gun's 
former position, right in the midst of A Co. Our comrades promptly departed 
to the woods until the next morning. 

The cooks sent up a good chow — steaks and coffee — and we got to sleep 
in our holes as best we could. 

The next day — Thursday, September 19th — was rainy. We dug our 
shelters a little deeper, and wished this war thing were over. I found a German 
translation of one of De Maupassant's novels, which I read through, but for the 
life of me I can't remember a bit of the story. 

In the afternoon the chaplain, Lt. Cressman, came around, and O'Hara's 
platoon was allowed to attend his burial service in the little cemetery in the 
edge of the Bois St. Claude, east of Vieville. 

In the meantime I had been called to Btn. Hdq., where Mr. Morse, our 
faithful old "Y" man, had brought up some chocolate and cigarettes. He was 
supposed by the regulations of the "Y" to sell them, but he refused to take any 
money from the Co. Cmdrs. at first, intending to account for them out of his 
own small pay. When we understood this, we insisted on paying for the stuff 
out of the company funds. The news got out that the "Y" was charging for 
chocolate and tobacco, and caused some bitterness, under the circumstances. 
But thereafter Mr. Morse made some arrangement whereby the stuff was 
issued free. 

As for Mr. Morse himself, I think we should here express something of our 
appreciation of his faithful and unselfish devotion to the men of the battalion. 
A man well past the prime of life, he shared our hardships, hiked with us — not 



IN THE WORLD WAR 49 



sticking like grim death to a Ford as some of his confreres were prone to do — ; 
slept in mud and rain with us. Right under shell fire he would come plugging 
on up with his little bag of smokes and chocolate. The Red Cross, the Salvation 
Army, were only names to us. But the "Y," which we cussed out so frequently, 
surely did us proud when they gave us Mr. Morse. 

That night the 1st, 3rd and 4th platoons went out as separate working 
parties. Apparently the deaths of O'Hara and Farry had demonstrated even to 
our friends the Engineers that sporting about in sight of Hun balloons in the 
day time was magnificent, but not war. 

The Boche had the range, though, and shelled the area all night. The 
1st platoon ran on an average schedule of dig two minutes and duck five. The 
3rd was in no better case, and Barney O'Rourke got an ugly little piece of shell 
through his foot. He hobbled off between Hill and Weber, adjuring me as he 
left "Don't let th' byes get up too soon afther they bor-r-rst, sor-r-r." And 
thereafter we didn't. 

Rifle bullets were cracking by over our heads now and then, and the rumor 
got about that snipers were concealed in the nearby woods. The whole sector 
had of course been in German hands five days before, and all sorts of tales 
were current about death traps found in dugouts, and lurking snipers, lying 
close in the daytime in cunning shelters, well provisioned, who came out at 
night to pot a few of us and eventually escape by underground passages. 

Most of these tales I recognized as old friends originally met with in the 
Sat. Eve. Post. But digging was quite unpleasant enough as it was, and the 
source of the impression was not so important as the fact that it existed. So 
Osterweis, Woolley and I went forth to bag the franctlreurs. We waded 
through a vast deal of mud, but couldn't flush anything except a disgusted 
runner looking for Brigade Hdq.; so I sent the corporals back, and set out 
myself for the 4th platoon, which was stringing wire over on the left of the 
sector. 

On the way I stumbled over the body of a 5th Division soldier. He had a 
red runner's brassard on his arm, and was all ticketed for burial. His face 
seemed to be in shadow. There was a plug of chewing tobacco sticking out of 
his pocket and this seemed to be in the shadow too. Then I realized that his 
face had turned black — it was just the color of that plug of tobacco. The 
vicious shriek of a shell approached, and I hit the dirt. A bit of the shell hit 
the dead man by me, and he jumped as if alive. I got up and was on my way. 

The majority of the 4th platoon had taken individual leases on shell holes; 
Sgt. Rogers and a few others were making valiant efforts to make some head- 
way with the wire. The shelling quieted down after awhile, however, and 
we got down to business. Then I started back to see how the others were faring. 

On the way I heard Capt. Fleischmann's voice from the darkness; his men 
also were worried about the stray bullets overhead. As 1 came up, a couple of 
his sentinels thought they had spotted the snipers, and cracked down on some 
figures moving past a clump of bushes to their left. A few remarks in choice 
American made it clear that they were potting away at my 3rd platoon, which 
had decided that it was time to quit for the night. Privately I was heartily in 
sympathy with this view; but officially I had to lead the way back to the trench 
and set the boys to work- again. Meanwhile the C. O. of the 4th platoon, labor- 



50 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

ing under a similar delusion, had taken his wiring party back to their bivvies. 
Sgt. Rogers, Slim Price and one or two others were still on deck, very much 
disgusted. So we had a good long trudge back, routed the lads out, and all 
nands returned to the hill. 

At last 3 o'clock came, and we turned in tools and quit for the night. As 
Rogers, Hayden and I were crossing the belt of wire north of the Vieville road, 
four or five gas shells landed quite near by. We all got a pretty good snootful 
before we got our masks on; and Rogers, the Co. gas N. C. O., was so busy 
cussing the wire that he didn't notice the gas soon enough, and got enough to 
put him in the hospital. 

My shell hole looked pretty luxurious to me; Chiaradro had swiped a piece 
of corrugated iron for a roof, and it wasn't as wet as it might have been. I 
was glad to crawl in between him and Robbins and go to sleep. 

At about 9 A. M. Heinle set to work to blow us out. His range was fifty 
meters short, fortunately, and he shelled away on a line between us and 
Vieville with characteristic diligence and thoroughness. The flying fragments 
made promenading unhealthy. Lt. Schuyler came over to my bivvy with a 
rumor that the Ausfrians had quit. Two minutes after he left, a long jagged 
piece came whistling along and half buried itself just where he had been 
sitting, and six inches above my foot. Cheery-O used it to hang his mess kit 
on thereafter. 

That night we only furnished two small working parties, and the rest of 
us had a cushy sleep. 

On Friday, the 2 0th, the Co. Cmdrs. were assembled at Bn. Hdq., and 
were told that we were to relieve the 2nd Battalion on the night of the 21st. 
That afternoon we went up to reconnoiter the position we were to take over. 
The guides took us up past the Engineer dump, through the woods to the 2nd 
Bn. Hdq. Here we found Major Adee and his staff taking advantage of a quiet 
hour to have luncu above ground. They were using a couple of German 
dugouts as headquarters — very good ones, about 2 feet under ground and well 
timbered. 

Major Adee seemed to have aged twenty years. His face was lined and 
haggard with care and responsibility. His runner had been killed at the 
entrance to the dugout that morning by a shell. 

Fleischmann and I with two runners apiece, our officers and top sergeants, 
were furnished with a guide to take us to the outpost line. B and D Cos. were 
to relieve H Co.; A and C were to hold the line of resistance. 

It was a long two kilos up to the outpost line, especially as we had to keep 
under cover of the woods all the way. We crossed and recrossed one of the 
little narrow gauge railways that the Germans had running everywhere. My 
right ankle, which I had broken the previous fall playing football at Camp 
Dix, had a touch of rheumatism, and the nagging pain from it made a back- 
ground for all the rest of my time in the line. Even now when I think about 
the Limey sector, the old ankle comes through with a reminiscent twinge. I 
suppose each of you had some corresponding petty aggravation which worried 
you absurdly out of proportion to its intrinsic importance. 

We toiled up the little wooded hill at the edge of the Bois Hanido, and 
passed a gun pit, the ground around strewn with German arms, equipment, and 



IN THE WORLD WAR 51 



clothing, and several dead Germans lying about. Just on the other side of the 
hill was a German rest camp, with several bunk houses, a movie theatre, and 
a little open air Catholic chapel, with a wooden cross. 

At the bottom of the hill we came to the narrow gauge railway again, 
followed it up a little way, and then turned down one of the straight paths 
that the Boche cut through the woods, barring all other approaches with barbed 
wire, and commanding these with machine guns. It was a good stunt, too, as 
we found out later. After you've struggled in barbed wire for a while you'll 
take a chance on machine gun bullets to get on a path. 

It was not far to H Co.'s headquarters. There we found Capt. Ressiguie, 
commanding the company — a most cool-headed, courageous and efficient officer. 
Lt. Col. Budd was also there, inspecting the outpost. The company headquarters 
was a shelter half stretched over a two foot ditch. Earlier in the afternoon, 
the left flank platoon had had a skirmish with an enemy machine gun patrol, 
losing two men killed and a couple wounded, including Lt. Stern. We made 
our reconnoissance and started back, arriving at our own Bn. Hdq. by nightfall. 
There we were issued battle maps of the sector and the relief order, which 
makes the arrangements down to the last detail on paper. 

Two platoons went out as working parties that night, and got off with 
comparatively little shelling. The next morning Capt. Fleischmann and I 
were issued an assortment of pyrotechnic signals — rockets. Very lights, etc., — 
with lengthy directions as to their use. 

In the afternoon a division order postponed the relief for twenty-four 
hours. Working parties had been called off on account of the relief, and we 
all got a night off. 

As soon as dusk fell on Sunday, September 2 2nd, the platoons were 
assembled under full equipment, and we started. The guides didn't appear, 
and it was fortunate we had been up before. Several times I thought I had lost 
my way, and was leading the two companies into the German lines. Trying to 
keep in touch with the man ahead while blundering through those woods, 
laden down with rifle and equipment, tripping over logs, roots and barbed wire, 
slipping in the mud; occasional shells bursting to remind us that any noise 
would be disastrous, and, of course, a nice rain falling — I've been on lots of 
pleasanter walks. 

At last we came to the old German rest camp, and I knew where we were. 
Soon we met Capt. Ressiguie, and the sgt. commanding his left platoon took us 
in tow. 

The first and third platoons furnished the line of outguards, along the line 
368.8-242.4: 368.3-242.8; the first platoon on the right. The second and fourth 
platoons were the support, and were to organize a strong point at the north of 
the little strip of woods at 368.1-242.5. Co. Hdq. was established at 368.6- 
242.4, just off the path through the woods. 

Only a small part of our sector had been held by H Co., and we had to 
dig our own bivvies. Our intrenching tools made little headway in the rocky 
ground, laced with tree roots; and even those who found German picks and 
shovels made little better progress. The support was somewhat better off, as 
they had one or two good dugouts and gun pits. 

By the time all the dispositions were made and inspected it was beginning 



52 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

to get light. There was plenty of German clothing and equipment lying around, 
and in ten minutes you could have collected enough souvenirs to satisfy even a 
Paris Q. M. sergeant. The heavy fleeceskin German coats came in especially 
handy, and the other stuff was good to line our bivvies, though it was soaking 
wet and smelt most damnably. Hun machine gun ammunition in long canvas 
belts was scattered around in abundance; and down in the corner of the field 
on our left was an abandoned field kitchen. 

Raymond Harris and a couple of battalion runners were running a field 
telephone up from B. H. Q. to the Co. Hdq. We had crawled into our holes for 
some sleep, when about 1 P. M. a nasty, shrill little whir like a giant mosquito 
heralded the arrival of a small one-pounder shell about a hundred meters down 
the line. It was repeated rapidly, dropping shells right along that path which 
ran parallel to the outpost line at about twenty-five yard intervals. And to our 
dismay, we realized that the shells were coming from behind us. 

Cheery-0 had carefully cleaned and oiled his rifle and leaned it up against 
a sapling at the edge of our hole. The vicious whir came again directly at us, 
and, as our muscles grew taut against the shock of the explosion, the butt of 
ihe rifle suddenly vanished. A moment later Cheery-O scrambled out and 
returned with a rueful face,, bearing his precious rifle, bent neatly at the breech 
into a right angle. 

Just then one of the battalion runners came up, with a bleeding hand, 
saying that his mate had just been killed down the path. I took the two first 
aid men attached to the company and we went down and found Harris, my 
own runner, lying by the coil of telephone wire he had been laying, with a 
great hole in the side of his head — a horrible thing to look at. 

I stopped only long enough to see a dressing applied and a stretcher 
brought, and then hastened down the path to D Cos. headquarters, where a 
phone had been installed. I found Fleischmann shooting off all the fireworks 
that would go off — about one in ten — and his first sergeant grinding the bell 
handle of the field phone like mad. To make things pleasanter, our artillery 
dropped a couple of shells neatly among our outguards. We sent back runners 
to B. H. Q., and the shells stopped. 

We never found out who was responsible for that one-pounder. Our own 
was far in the rear, and the outfits on either side — the 9 0th Division on the 
right, the 312th Inf. on the left — disclaimed any knowledge of it. So head- 
quarters solved the problem, as usual, by telling us we were green at this game 
and didn't know what we were talking about. 

It seemed so pitifully unnecessary about Harris. He was such a handsome, 
bright, intelligent and cheery little chap, a favorite with all the company; and 
we carried him off with half his face torn away, moaning and unconscious. I 
never dreamed he could live. But somehow they pulled him through and I 
have just had a card from him today, from Walter Reed Hospital, where he is 
yet. 

The nearest first aid post was at Bn. Hdq., and we had to carry all our 
wounded back those two long kilometers through the woods, with only the 
rough dressings that we could apply on the spot. For our rations we had to 
go back another two kilos, to Rgt'l Hdq., making four kilos each way, nearly 
all the way through woods and under shell fire. The continual wetness, expos- 



IN THE WORLD WAR 53 



ure and loss of sleep made us easy prey to dysentery, and this weakened us a 
great deal. Under these conditions, to have to carry a stretcher or a can of 
stew several kilos in the dark was — well, it was just hell. I think the ration 
parties had the worst job, though their loads were not so heavy as the stretcher 
bearers' were. The latter were held up by sympathy for the poor devil on the 
stretcher. There isn't much inspiration in a can of slum or a bag of bread. 

Joe Levy had charge of the ration parties, and a thankless job it was. The 
Major arranged to have the chow brought as far as the line of resistance in a 
limber; but when shells were banging about — which was pretty generally the 
case — either the limber didn't get up that far, or the chow was dumped down 
and abandoned. Worst of all, we only had enough thermos cans to carry one 
ration for the company; so the ration detail had to go back, get the chow, bring 
it up and distribute it, collect the cans, lug them back to the kitchens, and then 
return to the outpost line. It did seem absolutely inexcusable that this had to 
be done, all for lack of a few cans. It cost us several unnecessary losses in 
killed and wounded, and after all had done their turn at this detail, weakened 
from diarrhoea and exposure as we were, it made us very low physically. 

The night of the 23rd passed comparatively quietly for the outpost line, 
though the line of resistance was well bucketed, and the ration party had a 
hard time. Shells landing near the kitchen transformed several thermos cans 
into sieves, and made the shortage worse than ever. Besides, Regt'l Hdq. 
decided that the kitchens were attracting enemy shell fire in their direction, 
and ordered them moved another kilo back, to the brigade reserve. 

Our orders were to do no patrolling in front of the line of outguards, as 
this was to be done by the battalion scouts under Lt. Drake. I believe this was 
a mistake, and if I had it to do over again I should send out patrols every night. 
It makes all the difference in one's confidence and peace of mind, and no 
information can equal that gained at first hand. 

At about 3 P. M. on the 24th, as I was dozing in our bivvy, Lt. Col. Budd's 
face peeped in. He and a Major from Division Hdq. were inspecting the outpost 
line. I was glad to see some one higher up than myself dodging shells. It 
might have been wrong In theory for him to be up there, but I surely appre- 
ciated it. I did the honors for our sector, asked for more thermos cans, and got 
a couple of cigars from the Lt. Colonel. He brought the news that the 9 0th 
Division on our right was pulling off a battalion raid that night, covered by a 
barrage, and to lie close. 

About three times a day I would go down to chew the rag and swap dope 
with Capt. Fleischmann. It was funny that I nearly always met him on the 
way, coming over to do the same with me. The idea always struck us at the 
same moment. Somehow it seemed to help share the responsibility, and 
cheered us up a lot. 

The barrage started about 11 P. M. The Boche replied with a counter 
barrage, and he had a very fair range on our outpost line. In five minutes the 
shells were ripping the tops off the trees all around, and the air grew acrid 
from the bursting lyddite. He was just about 50 meters too high, and it was 
his shorts that did the damage to us. 

In about fifteen minutes, when the din was at its height, Cole, a runner 
from the 3rd platoon, came up, out of breath and shaken. A shell had hit 



54 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

directly on platoon hdq.; Lt. Merrill and Sgt. Hill were both wounded, and 
several men killed. 

I left Sgt. Robbins in charge at Co. Hdq., and with Cole, Winemiller, 
Chiaradio and our two medical detachment men went out to see the situation. 

We pushed through the thick underbrush to the shallow hole that Merrill 
was occupying. It was raining a little; the only light came from the flashes 
of the bursting shells and the guns on the horizon. Merrill and Hill had been 
lying in their bivvy, with the other platoon runner, Laurencell, sitting on their 
feet. A shell had hit Laurencell right at the shoulders, carrying all his head, 
neck and shoulders and arms away. His bleeding trunk and legs, an awful 
corpse, was lying across Hill and Merrill, who were both badly wounded in the 
feet and legs, and could not remove the body. 

We took up poor Laurencell's remains and laid them to one side, and then 
got Merrill on a stretcher, and Cheery-O and Cole carried him off. Sgt. Hill's 
feet, however, were so mangled and mixed up with the bottom of the hole 
that our attempts to raise him out of it caused him intense agony. He said, 
"Captain, there's a German razor in my coat pocket. Please cut my foot off, 
and then I can stand it." 

I couldn't see, but I could feel with my hands that this was about the only 
way to extricate him. So I took the razor, and cut away his shoe and the 
mangled part of his foot, which was all mixed up with a German overcoat they 
had been lying on. Then we were able to lift him on to the stretcher; but he 
wouldn't be carried away until we took all his cigarettes out of his pocket and 
gave them to him. 

Then I went down toward the line of outguards. When I got out on the 
road by the German kitchen, I was challenged by Cpl. McGarrity. It did my 
heart good to hear his stern, cool voice coming out of that night of blackness 
and horror. He reported that several men in the outguards were killed and 
wounded, and that he and Corp. Welsh were arranging for the wounded. Sgt. 
Schelter had gone to Co. Hdq. for stretchers, and hadn't been heard of since. 
We never saw him again. His body was found in the woods several hundred 
meters away several days later; he evidently lost his way, and while wandering 
about in search of Co. Hdq. was killed by shell fire. 

Welsh and McGarrity took hold of the situation like veterans. I desig- 
nated them first and second in command of the platoon, respectively, and told 
them they would be relieved before morning. 

On returning to Co. Hdq. I found the wounded beginning to stream in. 
Nearly all were from the 3rd platoon; the 1st platoon, strangely, suffered very 
little. All the Co. runners and buglers were soon carrying stretchers, and I 
again left Sgt. Robbins in charge while I went over to the support to see to 
bringing up more stretcher bearers and relief for the 3rd platoon. 

That walk across the fields to the support's position was certainly a 
thriller. As I came out of the woods and started across the open, the shells 
were going just overhead and bursting in the field to my left, along a line about 
50 meters away. After I doped this out it was easy enough to plan my route 
so as to avoid them. 

I found the platoon commanders and their sergeants in their dugout — 
quite luxurious it looked, lighted with a candle and comparatively dry. They 



IN THE WORLD WAR 55 



thought I was wounded, as my hands, arms, trousers and gas mask were all 
spotted and spattered with blood. I ordered a detail from the 2nd platoon to 
report to me at once for ration and stretcher carrying parties, and the 4th 
platoon to i-eport as soon as the barrage lifted to relieve the 3rd on the line of 
outguards. As soon as the carrying parties were ready, I started back with them. 

Sgt. Levy was placed in charge of the carrying parties, and they were 
soon on their way. The men knew nothing of the country; it was pitchy black, 
the shelling was still heavy, and they were wet, weak and miserable. It was 
very hard to make orders understood, and everything was wrong at once. 
Besides, there was the possibility of a counter attack or raid by the Boche. 

In about half an hour the shelling died down and the 4th platoon came 
up. When they were posted, while inspecting the outguards, I stumbled over 
a body. As I could not see the face, I cut off the front of his gas mask pouch 
where the name of the owner was printed. Next morning I saw it was Kindt, 
of the 3rd platoon. He had been killed Instantly by a small piece of shell 
through the heart. 

As I got back to Co. Hdq. it was getting light. I crawled into our hole, 
which had a shelter half over it, and lit my pipe — the old black briar I have in 
my face now as I write. Before I had taken three puffs I fell off to sleep. A 
few minutes later Sgt. Robbins woke me with the news that the ration detail 
had returned. I had been breathing through my pipe which made me very 
sick and dizzy for awhile. 

It was too light then to get the rations out to the outguards. The ration 
detail was lying about on the ground, dead beat, among the pots and cans. 
Sgt. Wilson and his cooks had worked all the day before to make up a good 
chow, and Wilson had come up with it himself, though that was no part of 
his duty. It almost broke his heart to be too late. I tried to eat some, but 
everything tasted like blood. 

Someone in the rear — not Sgt. Wilson — had the idea that we needed 
coffee worse than water and so while we had plenty of strong, thick, cold black 
coffee, we only had water that was left in our canteens. Our upset stomachs 
refused the coffee; I used mine to wash the blood off my hands and wrists. 
Robbins shaved in his. 

Just then Capt. Fleischmann came striding along the path. He greeted 
me with "Hello Daddy. Isn't this awful?" D Co. had suffered even worse 
than we, and they had not enough men to carry in the wounded, though they 
had stripped the outguards as much as they dared. He asked me for men to 
carry in four wounded that were still at his Co. Hdq. 

I looked at the men lying on the ground asleep — the only ones available. 
They had been carrying all that awful night under the heavy shell fire, and I 
had not the heart to order them to make the trip again. But I woke them up 
and told them that D Co. had some men lying wounded, and asked for volun- 
teers to take them in. 

They stared dully for a moment, too tired to understand. Then Joe Levy, 
who had been on the go all night, dragged himself to his feet, and said "Hell, 
I'll go. Come on, fellows." Nobody wanted to go, and nobody pretended to. 
But they went. It was one of the finest things I ever saw, and every man that 



56 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

went should have had a D. S. C. No excitement to it though; nothing to thrill 
the penny-a-liners, so they didn't get it. 

When night fell, a detail went out to bring in the bodies of Weidman, 
Kindt and Laurencell. Cpl. Weidman had been hit right in the waist by a 
shell; his legs were lying several yards away from his body. It was a gruesome 
task bringing him and Laurencell in. We laid the bodies, covered with a 
blanket, near the graves of two H Co. men who had been killed, just off the 
path at the place when it crossed the good road — about point 368.8-242.3. 

The night passed comparatively quietly; we got the rations issued, and 
some water came up too late. Holly, one of the company runners, had twisted 
his knee badly, and could not walk; so Cole was made runner in his place; 
and a faithful, fearless lad he was, too. 

Wednesday, September 2 5th, dawned a bright fall day. About 10 A. M. 
Lt. Cressman, the regimental chaplain, came up. Winemiller, Cole, Cheery-O, 
and Slover went with us to bury our three comrades. We turned over their 
personal belongings to the chaplain, wrapped each poor mangled body in a 
blanket, and laid them side by side in the shallow graves — the best we had 
been able to dig. The chaplain read the burial service, while an occasional 
shell tore through the air far overhead. Then we filled in the graves. It was 
hard on our over-strained nerves, and when we got through most of us were 
crying more or less. We hadn't as yet seen so much as one of the enemy to 
shoot at; it was all such a hopeless, dreadful, ghastly business. Winemiller 
and Cole made three little crosses and set them up at the head of the graves. 

At 2:30 P. M. a message came up for Capt. Fleischmann and myself to 
report at once to Btn. Hdq. We set out together wondering what was up; 
leaving Lts. Hultzen and Schuyler in command. 

We reported to Major Odom, who was studying his battle map by the 
light of a couple of candles. Louis Foulkes greeted us on the side and slipped 
me a couple of cigars. 

After a few minutes, the Major took out his Bull Durham and started 
rolling a cigarette, saying: 

"I have a little problem for your companies to do tomorrow morning," 
quite as he had been saying any afternoon for the past year. Then he went on 
to explain. 

The great Argonne drive was to begin the next morning. It was to be a 
surprise attack, preceded by only a couple of hours' {srtillery preparation. We 
were to make a demonstration, a sham attack, with the object of keeping the 
enemy guessing for a few hours as to where the real blow was to fall, and so to 
delay his concentration of troops to meet the main drive. 

The 312th Inf. on our left, and the 90th Div. on our right, were to advance 
several kilos. We were to advance about half a kilo, to approximately the line 
368.3-243.4; 369.5-242.3. This line we were to hold, and the units on our 
Hanks were gradually to fall back and re-establish the outpost line on us as a 
guide. We would have no barrage, but there would be an hour of concentra- 
tion fire — that is, our artillery would shell points in the sector of the advance 
like cross roads, probable strong points, battery positions, etc. 

Zero hour was 5:30 A. M. At that moment we were to cut loose with all 
our small arms fire. The battalion scouts had reported that there were no 



IN THE WORLD WAR 



Uermans for 500 meters to the front, but this Fourth of July stuff was to get 
the enemy's wind up. 

The arrangements for supplies and liaison were soon made. We had had 
no chance to use any ammunition, and about all we asked for was water 
and food. 

Foulkes said that orders had arrived at Regtl. Hdq. detailing me to 
report to the Army School of the Line at Langres on Oct. 1st. I thought of the 
men we had buried that morning, and reflected grimly that I should probably 
not matriculate. 

When the Major finished his instructions, we sat quiet for a moment. Then 
Fleischmann said "Well, come on. Daddy; we've got a lot to do before dark," 
and we set out. 

As we climbed Dead Man's Hill, the Boche balloon saw us, and they 
amus?d themselves by sniping at us with a couple of 88's. We kept about 20 
yards apart, so that if one was potted the other could see to the attack. It 
was rather like playing "Go'ng to Jerusalem." We would linger by a good 
shi 11 hole and then hustle for the Dt-xt one; and of course the shells would 
always catch us between two holes, and we would have to flop into some six 
inch puddle. 

On arriving at Co. Hdq. I sent for the platoon commanders and sergeants. 
Welch and McGarrity were left in command of the 3rd platoon; I had perfect 
confidence in their ability to handle it after their showing two nights before. 

I knew that the moment we opened fire the German barrage would drop. 
If he hadn't shortened his range since Monday night we would have it behind 
us. If he had, we would have to go through it anyhow, and the sooner the 
better. 

B Co. was attacking over a full kilometer front, which in a regular 
supported attack would be the sector for at least a battalion. If we met any 
serious opposition, we could not hope to push through to our objective on this 
frontage. I therefore made my main objective the edge of the open field along 
the line 369.0-243.0 to 368.6-243.2. This line was along the top of a rather 
steep reverse slope, which would give us protection from frontal fire, and from 
this as a base we could throw out combat patrols to the flanks, and eventually 
get in touch with the units on either side. 

The company was to advance with the 1st, 4th and 2nd platoons in the 
hrst wave, in above order from right to left; all in line of combat groups. The 
3rd platoon was to follow at 50 meters, and would act as support and mopping 
up party. All would jump off from the line of outguards, so that all would get 
clear of the enemy's barrage as quickly as possible. The 1st Pit. already had a 
common post with D Co., which was to move down the road on our right f^ank 
as a combat patrol. Our left flank post was to arrange with the visiting patrol 
of the 312th Inf. to advance similarly along the left flank of our sector. 

By the time these orders were issued and the ground reconnoitered, it 
was nearly dark. Our rations were to be brought up that night by details 
from the rear; bur they lost their way — or their ambition — and the chow 
never got beyond the foot of Dead Man's Hill. 

About midnight Capt. Fleischmann came over for a last consultation, and 
we explained our plans to each other. Then we shook hands hard, wished each 



58 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



other "Cheery-O" after the manner of the Scotties; and the night closed behind 
his tall figure as he strode off down the path. 

Various details of the arrangements kept me busy until the 2nd and 3rd 
platoons came up at 5 A. M. to take their posts for the attack. Things were 
comparatively quiet; only the usual shells going overhead. There was just 
time to see the platoons properly disposed and to get my headquarters platoon 
into position between the 1st and 4th platoons. Then I watched my wrist 
watch tick off the last five minutes, as the first tinge of dawn crept Into the sky 
on our right. I ran everything over in my mind hastily, to be sure nothing was 
forgotten. And then the minute hand pointed the half hour. 

Nothing happened. 

The seconds ticked away. I listened and listened for ages — twenty 
seconds by the watch — and nothing happened. 

Finally I heard Schuyler's voice over to the right, calling cautiously "Hey, 
Cap, isn't it time yet?" 

"Sure it is," I replied irritably. "Turn 'em loose. It's after the time now." 

The words were not out of my mouth before his rifle cracked and his voice 
rang out "First platoon, Fire." 

The shots began to ring out, singly, then a rattle as the other platoons 
took it up, each man firing a clip; then the rackety-split of the Chauchats. An 
instant's lull as we reloaded, and then the command was "Forward!" 

Then Hell broke loose. 

The Germans had shortened their range. Their barrage dropped right 
on us. The company runners were behind me in single file, Slover at the rear. 
A shell burst behind us, killing him in his tracks before he took a step. We 
knew nothing of it at the time. We pushed across the field to our front, a 
field studded with stumps and full of underbrush. Shells were bursting all 
around; the air filled as if by magic with the stifling acrid smoke of high 
explosive. Several times the concussion of a close one nearly knocked me off 
my feet, and the fumes blew against my face like the blast from a furnace door. 
I wondered vaguely when I'd get it, and shouted "Come on. B Company," until 
I was hoarse. Occasionally I heard Schuyler cheering on his men. You couldn't 
see ten feet for the smoke. 

At the far edge of the field we ran into a broad belt of barbed wire. We 
spread out, looking for a passage. Joe Levy called "Here's a place. Captain," 
and we struggled through; I was dragging a long French VB rifle after me. 
The wire was about 20 feet across. 

We found ourselves at the bottom of a wooded slope, on a rough wagon 
track. Lt. Schuyler, with Sgt. Reid and a couple of men, had gotten through 
further along, and we started up the hill, sheltered somewhat from the shells, 
though they were bursting in the treetops overhead. 

I dumped my pack and V. B. rifle by a tree and christened the place com- 
pany headquarters. Then we went on up the hill. I got out my map and 
pencil to be sure this was our objective. 

It was quite light now; a beautiful September morning. Schuyler and I 
gained the top of the ridge together. The woods ended there, giving way to a 
little open plateau, about 2 50 meters across, with woods on the other side 
again. I verified the position on my map, and ordered Schuyler to post his men 



IN THE WORLD WAR 59 



along the ridge under cover of the trees and underbrush, while I did the same 
further to the left, where men from the 4th platoon were coming up the slope 
in groups of two and three as they got through the wire. 

I had not gone twenty paces when Sgt. Reid came running after me and 
said "Lieut. Schuyler's been hit, Captain." 1 answered mechanically "All 
right; bring him behind the ridge, take charge of the platoon and post the 
men as they come up." 

Ritle bullets were beginning to snap overhead, coming apparently from 
the woods across the field, which was held in some force by the enemy, as we 
soon realized. Our only chance of meeting a counter attack was to build up a 
firing line to sweep the plateau in front, and as fast as men from the 4th 
platoon came up I posted them to command our front and left flank. 

Slim Price, in a German's black fur coat that came about to his hips, came 
stalking up the hill with his Chauchat, and disappeared over the crest, subsid- 
ing in a little clump of bushes out on the left of the plateau. He was telling 

the world that he was a "fighting of a ." A moment later I 

heard the rattle of his gun as he spotted a Heinie machine gun squad advancing 
down the gully on our left. I guess Slim was right, at that. 

The C. O., 4th Pit., came up by this time. He was badly shaken, but I put 
him in charge of the left flank until the 2nd platoon should arrive, and went 
back to the right. 

They had brought Lt. Schuyler a little way down the slope, and laid him 
down until a stretcher came up. A shell had burst right beside him, between 
him and Reid. He was still breathing, but very heavily, and was quite uncon- 
scious; his eyes were nearly closed. I bound up his head as best I could with 
his first aid packet, but my heart sank — the concussion had been near the base 
of the skull. Oddly enough, he was not at all disfigured; but it had been a 
terrible blow, and only his magnificent vitality was keeping him breathing. 
That was a bitter moment, with my best officer and best friend in the outfit 
dying, the company shattered; and not a German had I seen. 

Sgt. Levy came up with a couple of stretchers and the news that both the 
Medical Detachment men attached to the company were killed. Hoping against 
hope I had him put Roy on the first stretcher, and they bore him away to the 
rear, though the shells were still bursting behind us. It was no use; that gallant 
spirit breathed its last before they had gone a kilometer. The bearers wanted 
to take him on to the surgeon anyhow, but there were many others desperately 
wounded, and stretchers were pitifully few. 

In the meantime I had sent out patrols to the flanks to try and get in touch 
with D Co. and the 312th Inf. A patrol of 6 men from D Co. came in on our 
right, but they were separated from their outfit and didn't know what had 
happened. Brisk machine gun firing to our right rear made us fear things 
were not going well there. 

On our left, a party of the Boche under an officer had advanced down the 
ravine toward the end of our ridge, and had driven in our advanced riflemen; 
but had been checked, largely by the doughty Price from his clump of bushes. 
Three runners sent to the left to find the 2nd platoon did not return, and I 
feared the latter had lost its direction and was in trouble. 

During a temporary lull, I strolled out to the left, map in hand, and 



60 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

crossing the ravine started up the next ridge to find them. About a hundred 
yards ahead I caught a glimpse of a man walking through the trees, and 
thought I recognized one of our runners. I shouted "Hey." He turned around. 
I asked "What platoon are you in?" Then I noticed how nicely his helmet 
came down around his neck. He unlimbered a rifle that looked about eight 
feet long, and cracked a bullet past my ear. I reached for my .4 5, remembered 
my last target score with that weapon, and promptly betook myself off to our 
own ridge. 

There I took a dead man's rifle and ammunition, and called for volunteers, 
to go on a combat patrol to find the 2nd platoon. We needed them badly, for 
if the enemy got in on our left flank they could enfilade our ridge and shoot u.'^ 
down at pleasure. 

I took Martocci and four other men — their names I can't recall, though 
their faces stand out sharply in my memory. We advanced up the ridge on 
our left in skirmishing order. My Boche friend was waiting for us, and before 
we had gone fifty yards he cracked down on us from the woods above. We 
answered, firing by ear at the sound of his rifle. It was blind work; we couldn't 
see fifty yards through the woods. 

We worked up to the top of the ridge, and then along it toward the west. 
Two of the patrol were missing; lost or killed, I never knew which. We 
pushed on cautiously, a few yards at a time, stopping to look and listen. Now 
and again the enemy would spot us, and his bullets would snap past us vicious- 
ly. The German rifle has a high, whip-like crack, easily distinguishable from 
that of our Enfield or Springfield; but the noise of the bullet passing by is 
much tiie same. 

Suddenly I felt a sharp blow on my shoulder; one of the gentlemen had 
pinked me neatly. Down the ridge the bushes rustled; all four of us let drive 
at the sound. There was a shrill scream, and then silence. One of us had 
found a mark. 

This was all very interesting, but my business was to find that 2nd 
platoon. My mind was working away industriously at that problem, with a 
peculiar detachment. I only remember feeling vaguely annoyed at our patrol's 
unpleasant situation, and did my share of the shooting almost mechanically. 

Of course, as we found out later, the 312th Inf. outpost made no advance 
at all that morning, and our patrol had pushed in behind the German line of 
outguards; to our mutual bewilderment and disgust. The Boche began to fall 
back through the woods, not stealthily as we were moving, but clumping and 
crashing along, and shouting to one another to know what in donner und 
biitzen was up. 

We were now well beyond the left of our own regimental sector, and a 
long half kilo from the company. The withdrawing outguards of the enemy 
were passing all around us. For twenty minutes we played a desperate game 
of blind man's buff with them. Occasionally we would catch a glimpse of a 
gray form or a green helmet through the trees, and our little messengers of 
death would speed him on his way. Then bullets would sing over our heads 
from all directions, and we would hug the ground until we could push on 
again, to repeat the performance from another position. 

Finally I gave up hope of finding the 2nd platoon, and got out my compass 



IN THE WORLD WAR 61 



to steer otir course back to B Co. Cautiously we stole through the woods to 
the southeast. We could still hear the Boche trampling the bushes all 
around us. 

Suddenly from the bushes ahead came a challenge, in the mechanical, 
drill-book German that means bullets are coming. We hit the dirt, just as a 
brisk rapid fire opened on us, cutting the twigs overhead. We let drive into 
the bushes in front, firing low. As I slipped a fresh clip into my magazine, I 
glanced at Martocci, his olive cheek white with excitement, but firing quite 
steadily and coolly from a kneeling position. 

I signalled "Cease firing." All was still, except for a trampling receding 
off to the right. Warily we circled round the bushes, and came upon a road — 
one of those straight German roads, with a 2-inch pipe line running along 
the side. 

One of the men crossed, while the rest stood ready to cover him. I 
crossed next, with Martocci. As I glanced down the road, I saw two Germans 
lying at the side of it, about ten yards away. Nice looking, fair-haired lads 
they were. One of them just then stretched out his hand towards his rifle, 
which lay beside him. It may have been only a convulsive movement, but we 
weren't taking chances. I put a bullet into him, squeezing the trigger care- 
fully. He jumped and rolled out into the middle of the road, where he lay 
still enough. Then I did the same for the other, mechanically, with a cold 
disgust at the whole business. My mind seemed to stand aloof and watch the 
proceeding for a moment; then it went on thinking, planning, weighing care- 
fully our next move. 

After this, the enemy seemed to steer rather clear of us, though we passed 
near several other groups. One fellow was shouting for "Emil;" and I reflected 
grimly that Emil's military career was probably blighted, anyhow. So we 
came at last to the foot of the ridge again, and about 200 meters along the 
road at its foot we found our left flank post. And there at last we found the 
2nd platoon — Lt. Dunn, Sgt. Sweeny and four men. The rest were lying back 
in the field where the barrage had struck them, or were on that long, long trip 
back to the first aid post. 

At this time — about 8 A. M. — a German plane appeared, coming at us 
with a rush, low over the treetops, almost head on. We could see the aviator 
looking over the side of the car. He spotted someone moving, and flew low 
along our line, firing his machine gun. but more as a signal than at us partic- 
ularly. I think. We cracked away at him. but had no luck. With superb 
nerve he flew slowly the length of our line, returned, and then banked lazily 
and disappeared toward his own lines. Ten minutes later shells were bursting 
about us with devilish precision, and machine gun squads pushed up on either 
flank, until stopped by our Chauchats. They were still somewhat leery of us, 
though, possibly suspecting a trap, and the attack was not pressed home. The 
German snipers in the woods across the little plateau in front were reinforced 
by machine guns, and both sides greeted every shaking bush or exposed head 
with a vicious crackle of bullets. 

Corporal Apicelli's squad, lying out in the advanced posts where they had 
been stationed by Schuyler and Reid, were especially exposed, "Apicelli and 
two other men being killed during the morning. At least one of the enemy 



62 COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 

was using dumdum bullets, as I saw one of our men shot in the hip. and where 
the bullet came out you couM have put your fist in the hole. 

Levy and Winemiller were set to cutting two lanes in the wire behind us, 
so that we would not be hopelessly in a cul-de-sac. 

At about 9 A. M. Lt. Wolcott of D Co. appeared with his platoon, reduced 
to some 20 men. He was out of touch with the rest of his company, and did 
not know how it had fared. He was posted on our right flank, and sent out a 
patrol to get in contact with D Co. 

The firing died down to incessant sniping, and I set about completing my 
situation report for the Major, having given up hope for the present of estab- 
lishing contact on the flanks. As I was finishing, Lt. Drake came up with a 
squad of the battalion scouts, among them the honest face of our own Sgt. 
DeGrote. I explained the situation, and gave him the report to take back. I 
shall never forget "Ducky's" eyes, sick with seeing horrors, as he turned to go. 

As he disappeared, a tall figure came striding along from the right — 
Capt. Fleischmann, with dark circles under his eyes, blackened and stained 
from head to foot with blood and powder. We greeted each other as risen 
from the dead, and compared notes. He had run into the enemy in force 
strongly established in concrete pillboxes and machine gun posts; and while 
scattered groups of his company had won through to the company objective, 
they werje unable to hold it without machine guns against the enemy's enfilad- 
ing fire. The remnant had retired to their old line of outguards, after suffering: 
heavy losses. 

Since I still thought the 312th Inf. might be far out to our left front, and 
depending on us to cover their ultimate withdrawal, we decided that B Co. 
should hold on where we were, while D Co. would string scattered Cossack 
posts along their old line until relief or further orders came up. 

The morning wore on; still no news from our left flank. I kept on the 
move up and down the line, assuming a confidence that I did not feel; for of 
course if the enemy advanced in any force we were done for. Still we had our 
orders, and there was nothing for it but to put up the best scrap we could. 

Some things were funny, even then. I remember the company barber, 
that sterling son of Italy, after a Boche sniper put a bullet past each ear. He 
wriggled back from his unpleasant position on the crest of the ridge, and 
retaliated by holding up his rifle at arm's length over his head, pointed north- 
east, and executing rapid fire, pulling the trigger with his thumb, while he 
regarded my approach with the complacence of conscious ingenuity. I think 
the Boche must have laughed too; for the branches of a tree across the field 
began to shake, and a bullet brought a gray body tumbling down from branch 
to branch. 

We had some food — hard bread, corned willy and goldfish — but very little 
water. It was pitiful to see the wounded, who wouldn't take any from the 
others, because they were going back when the stretcher bearers got around to 
them. Levy and his detail worked like Trojans, but it was a long trip, and 
every time they returned there was a fresh batch of wounded to be carried. 

There was one man — I wish I could remember his name, but though 
every event stands out clearly in my mind, I cannot remember the names 
connected with them. He was sitting with his back against a tree, wounded 



IN THE WORLD WAR 63 



by a shell in the legs and stomach. When I asked him if I could do anything 
for him, he said "If I could have a little water." I gave him my canteen, which 
had a couple of swallows left in it. He shook it, and grinned and shook his 
head. "Not your last, Cap'n." I told him that Levy had just brought up a 
can, and hurried off to the left, where the firing was getting heavy. When I 
passed that way again, the man was dead. And the water was still in my 
canteen, and he had screwed the stopper back on; so he must have thought I 
was lying about Levy. 

Three o'clock came, and shortly after a platoon from A Co. under Lt. 
Bigler came up to reinforce us. They were posted on our left flank to hold 
the ravine up which the enemy had been trying to advance and flank our 
position. I couldn't understand why the Germans in front of D Co. had not 
come in on our right flank yet. 

At 3:30 a patrol of two officers and six men came up the road on the left, 
and as they drew near I recognized Capt. Gray, of the 312th Inf., who I knew 
commanded their outpost line. His news was not encouraging. His company 
had received no orders to advance; they were still on their old line to our left 
rear. We arranged that he should run a line of Cossack posts along the road 
up to join us, so that we would have at least a continuous line of outguards on 
the brigade front. On the way over the ridge from his right flank post, his 
patrol had had several skirmishes with German outposts or patrols; so the 
enemy was apparently venturing back to the positions where our patrol had 
flushed them earlier in the day. 

Just after he left — about 5.30 — Lt. Col. Budd came up with several men. 
I was certainly glad to see him, and even more glad to see Levy with a can of 
water, which he doled out, a swallow to each man. Col. Budd looked over the 
situation, and decided that we should hold the ridge until nightfall, when we 
would be relieved. While he was there, three German snipers managed to get 
into a rifle pit on the plateau about a hundred yards in front of us, and made 
things very hot on the right flank. Sgt. Lehy took our last two rifle grenades, 
and dropped the second one plumb into the pit, which discouraged those three 
for the day. 

Col. Budd departed to arrange for sending up water, ammunition and 
the relief. 

At 5:30 the enemy's artillery started in on us again, sweeping the top of 
the ridge with shell and shrapnel, and dropping time shells into the ravine 
behind it. For twenty minutes he poured in a heavy barrage, while we hugged 
the ground and gripped our rifles. If this meant a counter-attack in force we 
were up against it, because our ammunition was running low; but if we could 
beat them off once more we might hold out until night brought the relief. 

But this time the enemy was starting the real thing. He knew the ground 
like a book, of course; and I must say that his attack was ably planned and 
bravely executed. While his artillery shelled us, machine guns worked around 
behind both our flanks. At 5:50 men from D Go's outguards came running in 
and reported that the enemy had advanced in force, broken their skeleton line, 
and was coming in on our right flank with machine guns. Even while they 
spoke, the "Tap-tap-tap" of the machine gun broke out on the right to confirm 
them, and our ChauchaLs spat back in answer. 



64 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



In those woods, it was merely a question of who could throw enough lead 
to keep the other fellow's head down; and at this game our Chauchats had the 
chance of the proverbial snowball. With Sgts. Reid, Lehy, Fahey and Levy, 
the right flank, which had been disorganized and driven in with the D Co. 
outposts, was re-formed, and a firing line built up at right angles to our front 
to face our new foes. The enemy in front was pouring in a hot fire; we could 
not encircle the enemy machine guns to the right because of that belt of wire 
behind us. Meanwhile those same machine guns were enfilading our main line 
along the ridge. 

Our only chance was a frontal attack on them. First we tried a series of 
rushes. I realized then exactly what was meant by "fire superiority," and the 
enemy certainly had it. One Chauchat ran out of ammunition. The other was 
in Cocker's hands, and he used it well until it jammed. He worked at it 
desperately for several minutes, as he advanced with the line; then he threw 
it up against a tree in disgust, crying bitterly "That's a hell of a thing to give 
a man to fight with." From then on we had only our rifle fire against their 
leaden hailstorm. Neither side could aim their shots, but they were shooting 
twenty bullets to our one, and our hastily formed line was driven back. 

As they retired, Sgt. Fahey and I, with two other men, tried to sneak up 
along the top of the ridge and get close enough to bomb one of the machine 
guns. We were lucky at first, the enemy being busy with his bullets further 
down the slope. We saw four Germans, carrying ammunition ahead of us, but 
held our fire, hoping they would lead on to their gun. Fahey slipped me a 
bomb, and I pulled the pin, ready to throw. Just then a new devil's tattoo 
broke out about fifty yards away to our left, and the bullets came showering: 
about our ears. They must have caught sight of us through some opening in 
the trees, and were probably waiting for just such an attempt. One of our 
patrol was riddled through the stomach and back, and started crawling back 
on one hand and his knees, with strange, shrill moans like a wounded animal. 
The other was killed instantly. Fahey and I looked in each other's eyes for a 
startled moment; each, I think, wondering why the other was not killed. A 
bullet went through the tube of my gas mask, as I noticed later. Fahey lifted 
his eyebrows and pointed at the new gun. I nodded, and we started for it. 
But the first gun's crew heard the cries of the wounded man, and traversed 
back and forth by us. Fahey staggered, shot through the chest. We could 
not see to throw a bomb, and it would probably hit a branch and light on us 
anyhow. Our slender chance vanished, and we slipped back through the trees. 

As we returned, I saw our left flank retiring in some disorder, further 
confusing our hard pressed right. The enemy had driven back the post 
holding the head of the ravine on our left, and we were in the desperate 
position of being enfiladed from both flanks. Our losses were heavy, and 
ammunition was very low. 

I glanced at my watch- — only 6:20. No chance for the Lt. Col. to have 
gotten a counter-attack under way. The position had become untenable, and 
at any moment might develop into a complete cul-de-sac. It was time to 
pull out. 

I gave the order to withdraw by squads and fall back to the old outpost 
line; 4th platoon to go first, covered by the 1st and 3rd; then the 4th platoon 



IN THE WORLD WAR 65 



to cover our withdrawal from the other side of the wire. 

As the first squad from the 4th platoon started through the wire, a 
machine gun opened on the wire and the road before it, killing two and driving 
the rest back. The platoon leader reported that it was impossible to get across. 

To remain, however, meant almost certain death for all, with very little 
chance of inflicting compensating losses on the enemy. So as a last resort I 
took the 1st platoon, and during a momentary lull in the firing we made a 
rush for it in two or three groups at different places. 

The wire clawed and tore at us as though it were alive. My group 
scrambled through, somehow, anyhow, marvelling that the bullets did not 
come. When half way through I noticed that I was still mechanically holding 
Fahey's bomb, with the pin out. I went a bit carefully after that, so was the 
last one through. As I ripped my puttee free from the last strand of wire, the 
machine guns started up again, and I hugged the dirt while bullets cracked 
viciously overhead. The grass and green leaves felt cool and smelled fresh and 
green, and a little green bug went scrambling along a creeper, two inches 
from my nose. 

Presently another lull came, and I proceeded to worm my way through 
the underbrush, looking for my half platoon. Not a sign of them. They had 
gotten clear of the last burst of fire, and then made a break for it. 

The machine guns were still firing intermittently, but I heard no reply 
from our rifles, and hoped that the others had followed ms through the wire. 
Most of them had, as I found out later. 

Then came the hardest moment of the war for me. A group of about 20 
men had remained on the hill, apparently despairing of crossing the wire alive. 
An officer was with them, and upon him lies the responsibility of what hap- 
pened. The men themselves had done brave service before that time. But, as 
I understand by permission if not under orders, they raised the cry of 
"Kamerad." 

When I realized that this had really happened, I tried desperately to cross 
the wire to them again. But I was in too big a hurry, and made too much 
noise. The machine guns spotted me promptly, and streams of bullets made 
the sparks fly from the wire six feet ahead of me. Before I could work 
around to another place, I heard the sound of their withdrawal toward the 
German lines, and knew I was too late. 

My next job was to get back to the old outpost line and take charge there. 
The enemy machine gunners had penetrated well to our rear, and I had to go 
very cautiously, hearing their voices all around. They were withdrawing, 
however, and in ten minutes I found out why. Their artillery completed the 
day's work by shelling the ravine and vicinity in their usual methodical man- 
ner. Not to be outdone, our own artillery did the same. This was the last 
straw; I was too dead tired to dodge American shells as well as German. So I 
crawled under a bush and waited for whatever was on the cards. In two 
minutes I dozed off, with the shells banging all around. 

I must have slept for about twenty minutes. Waking with a start, I 
found dusk setting in. I took off my tattered slicker and wound it around my 
tin hat, to keep the twigs from playing an anvil chorus on it. The shelling had 
stopped. My short rest had revived some interest in life, and I slowly retraced 



66 COMPANY B, 311TH r>rPANTRY, 

our advance of that morning. I didn't think the enemy had left any outposts 
behind, but in any case was too tired to care, and went clumping along like any 
Heine. I arrived at our old outpost line, which we had held long, long ago, it 
seemed. It was absolutely deserted. I went along the path, past D Co.'s 
headquarters, and noticed that a shell had landed there and set off those pyro- 
technic signals which had been quite fireproof two days before. 

Apparently the war had been called off around here. I pottered about for 
quite a bit, but could find no one. Somehow my principal feeling was an 
immense relief that for the present I had no responsibility, no one to look out 
for but myself. Presently, however, it was evident that as I had not even a 
runner, I had to go back to Bn. Hdq. myself and report on the situation. 

Wearily I plodded off, back over Dead Man's Hill. It was quite dark, 
about IIP. M., and I was making very slow time. As I drew near the main 
line of resistance, I came upon two D Co. men, lying where they had been hit 
by a shell. One was dead; the other had a leg shot off. He said he had been 
lying there for about three hours. His comrade had helped him tie up his leg 
before he died. I left my blouse over him, as it was chilly, and went on to the 
tiring trench, which had wire in front of it by this time. I had some trouble 
convincing the occupants of my identity. In truth, with no blouse, my ragged 
slicker draped about my helmet, the shoulder of my shirt all torn and bloody, 
and my breeches and puttees in tatters, I didn't look much like an officer, and 
not at all like a gentleman. 

I stumbled down the ramp into Bn. Hdqrs., where I found Maj. Odom, 
Foulkes, Strawbridge and Lt. Col. Budd, to whom I reported. Capts. Marke- 
wick and Laing, of "I" and "L" Cos., were also there. Thinking the position 
in front was strongly held by the enemy, the idea was to send these companies 
up at dawn behind a rolling barrage to re-establish the outpost line. I was glad 
to tell them that this was unnecessary, and they later strolled on up in single 
file and occupied our old line without a single casualty. 

Major Odom in turn told me that Lt. Dunn with most of the 1st and 2nd 
platoons had already come in, and had been sent to the kitchen for chow. 
Louis Foulkes gave me some water and a couple of doughnuts, which I was 
nearly too sleepy to eat. 

I had to report to Regimental Hdq. then, and rehash the day's operations; 
but all I remember is that Capt. Brennan gave me some grape jam and bread 
and water, and the regimental surgeon swabbed my shoulder with Iodine. I 
have some hazy recollection of the Colonel himself pulling a blanket over me, 
though this may not be correct. 

Late next morning I woke up to be greeted by Strawbridge with the news 
that our travel orders had come, and we — he, Capt. Brennan, and myself — 
were directed to be at Langres — wherever that was- — by October 1st. 

As soon as possible I rejoined the company, which had been stationed at 
Brigade Reserve with the remnants of D Co. We had about 50 men left, not 
counting 2 who were on various special details. Sgt. Wilson and the cooks 
fed us like lords, and we made up for the past week. Big shells landed around 
occasionally, but it was a Philadelphia Sunday compared to what we had just 
left. 

The company was reorganized as a platoon, with Lt. Dunn in command 



IN THE WORLD WAR 67 



and Reid as top sergeant. We slept in pillboxes or gun emplacements, or 
anywhere else where there was a bit of shelter. 

The next day I said goodby to the company for six weeks, as I thought. 
There were rumors that the Bulgarians were nearly done, and the Austrians 
weakening; but I don't think that anyone dreamed that the armistice was only 
six weeks off. I stopped off one night with Sgt. Stiles to write up the company 
records, and finally boarded a motor truck for Toul. 

From this point the history is taken up by Lt. Gardinier, Sgt. Stiles, Sgt. 
Peter and Sgt. Tracy White. 

CHAPTER Vn 
MEUSE-AK(i<>\NK. 

Sept. 28th: Today the company commander left the company, leaving 
same in charge of Lt. Dunn, the only officer left. He reorganized the company 
— two platoons of about 4 men each was our strength. We remained in 
reserve in the Bois des Grandes positions until the night of October 4th. It 
was during this period that rumors of the enemy countries, Bulgaria, Turkey 
and Austria having quit reached us, causing a great deal of discussion and 
doing much to keep the morale at its highest. Sergeant Reid left for Officers' 
Training School. 

Oct. 4th: "We are going out for a rest" — These words were heard all 
through the company. Shortly before dark we left our position and marched 
to the road that led through Limey and remained there until midnight. We 
then started on what was one of the most tiresome hikes we ever experienced, 
and finally, at 5:30 A. M., reached the forest de la Reine. A fact that is 
worthy of mention and probably refreshes the reader's mind of incidents of 
the night was what seemed to be a direct hit on an ammunition dump to the 
right. The sky was brilliantly illuminated and was the cause of numerous 
rumors and suggestions as to the reason of the glare. We remained here until 
about 4:00 P. M. October 6th, and then started off for what we fondly believed 
was a rest. Subsequent events proved that our hopes were not to be fulfilled. 
It was here that Lt. Luhn joined the company. After hiking until midnight, 
most of the time through rain, we reached Mecrin and were so tired that 
regardless of the weather we threw ourselves on the ground and without 
further aid went to sleep until the following morning. Sgt. Perry rejoined the 
company at this place. At 11:30 A. M., we started again on a hike to Pierre- 
htte, arriving at 10 P. M., having covered about 24 kilos. It was again our 
fate to have motlier earth for a bed this night. 

From here we hiked a short distance to Nicey, where we took busses for a 
4 kilo trip to Beauchamp Ferme in the Forest de Argonne, arriving about 
10 P. M. in what seemed to be the darkest spot on earth. As usual it was 
raining, and this added greatly to our discomfort. There were only sufficient 
barracks for one company, the rest of the outfit had to sleep in their shelter 
tents, pitched in spots that were not very appealing when revealed at dawn. 
Lt. Dunn having been ill for some time left us here and Lt. Lahey took com- 
mand of the company, having been transferred from Company "I." Sgt. Perry 
having been made 1st Sergeant upon his return to the company aided mater- 



68 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

ially in reorganizing the company. We had a few days of much needed rest 
here and also consumed quantities of wood in making bonfires that dried us 
out and made life a little more cheerful. 

At 2:00 A. M. October 10th we aroused from our slumbers with orders 
to roll packs and be ready to leave at once. This was another example of how 
things are done in the army. Having spent several hours in rolling packs and 
getting breakfast, it was 7:30 A. M. before we started out. Our hikes of 
several days previous to arrival at this camp had taken us through many 
ruined villages and parts of the country recently evacuated by the enemj'. 
Today's hike covered 2 2 kilos and brought us into the heart of the Argonne, 
the same ground having been bitterly contested by opposing armies only a 
week previous. It was here that we were able to form a definite idea of how 
the Germans lived behind the lines. Every hillside was covered with dugouts 
made of concrete and heavily timbered and furnished in a style that had been 
unknown to us during the past four months. In the Limey Sector we found 
some German camps that were fitted up in grand style, but these could not be 
compared with the ones mentioned above. The officers' quarters were equipped 
with shower baths and in one place a large swimming pool. Everything seemed 
to denote that the Germans intended to stay there for all time. The signs on 
the trees and every cross-road led one to believe that the Germans were a 
nation of sign painters. Arriving at our destination after hiking about 2 3 
kilos we appreciated an opportunity to rest and lost no time in pitching tents 
and getting a much needed sleep. 

The following day we marched about 4 kilos and took up a position in the 
Bois de Chatel. It was here, on the eve of October 12th, that our much 
battered company of approximately 8 men, all veterans of the St. Mihiel, 
received 104 replacements from the 86th Division. Some of these men had 
never fired a rifle and were not familiar with the use of the gas mask. The 
company was again reorganized. The four platoons were placed in charge of 
Sergeants Newell, Lehy, White and Weber, respectively; to these men and our 
two officers, Lts. Lahey and Luhn, is due the credit of training these new and 
inexperienced men so that when they were called upon they made a creditable 
showing. Too much cannot be said about the way these men took care of 
what seemed to be almost a hopeless task. 

October 15th again brought us under shell fire. About 8:00 P. M. we 
left our positions and marched through heavy rains to relieve a unit of the 
308th Infantry, west of La Folie Ferme. We took up our position about 
3:00 A. M. and despite the fact that we were wet through, made ourselves as 
comfortable as circumstances would permit, only to be awakened at 5:30 
A. M. to prepare to advance at once. While preparing, Jerry saluted us with a 
barrage that, while it lasted, was very annoying and upset the new men exceed- 
ingly, this being the first time they had ever been under shell fire. This 
lasted only for a few minutes and after their baptism they all acted like 
seasoned veterans. This relief having been made during the darkness of the 
night, the units encountered great difficulty in keeping the men together. 
There was considerable mixup on the road that led to Chevieres; three columns 
of troops and a transport train trying to pass at one time. This caused a great 



IN THE WORLD WAR 69 



deal of contusion and the result was that many of the new men became separ- 
ated from the company and did not rejoin us until the following morning. On 
October 17th Sergeants Levy and Wilson left for Oflicers' Training School. 
This morning we lost Sergeant Lehy; he was killed just one hour before he 
was ordered to leave for Officers' Training School. 

Oct. 18th: At 10:00 P. M. we took up a position in the front line to the 
west of Chevieres, relieving our 2nd Battalion. At 3:00 A. M. we stepped off 
in a line of combat groups in support of "C" company, and advanced through 
heavy artillery and machine gun fire. We reached our objective at daybreak 
and held same through the day under continual fire from the enemy snipers 
a;nd machine guns. Enemy planes endeavored to locate our position and flew 
so low that the aviators were easily seen. Their object no doubt was to signal 
their artillery the location of our position, but judging from the heavy barrage 
that fell directly in back of us, their efforts were not crowned with success. 
We suffered quite a few casualties during this attack, among whom was Sgt. 
Welch, who had been recommended for a D. S. C. for bravery at St. Mihiel. 
He was wounded in seven different places by machine gun bullets, but refused 
to be evacuated until the other wounded men had been taken care of. Owing 
to our advanced position, and both the units on our flanks having failed to 
obtain their objectives, we were subject to such a heavy fire that it was impos- 
sible to evacuate our wounded until dark. Toward evening the enemy closed 
in on both flanks, and on our front, making our position untenable, and under 
cover of darkness drew close enough to drop hand grenades among our fox 
holes. This caused our oflicers to call for volunteers to carry a message to the 
Battalion Commander. After several runners had failed to get through, Sgt. 
White had volunteered to carry the message and reached Battalion Head- 
quarters P. C. in safety and returned with instructions to have the company 
withdraw. He was awarded a D. S. C. for this brave act. His entire route 
was continually subject to heavy artillery and machine gun fire. By perform- 
ing this deed he undoubtedly saved many lives and enabled the company to 
make an orderly retreat to the position they left that morning. He also assisted 
in directing the evacuation of the wounded; every man was removed without 
further casualties. During the activities the enemy continually sent up rockets 
and flares so that our movements could only be made during short minute 
periods of darkness. Too much credit cannot be given to both Lt. Lahey and 
Lt. Luhn. Their bravery and unselfish action in face of the enemy did much 
to keep up the morale of the men. We fell back to the position we had left 
that morning, and remained until 6:00 A. M. Then we fell back to railroad 
track running from Chevieres to Grand Pre, where we remained about four 
hours and then advanced again and took up our position along the River Aire. 
Here we remained for nine days and nights under continuous shell fire. While 
we suffered no casualties at this place from the enemy fire, several of our men 
were evacuated with influenza. One great difficulty that we experienced here 
was that of obtaining rations, as it was impossible to bring them up during the 
day, and at night Jerry threw over such a heavy shell fire that made the work 
of the ration parties extremely hazardous. 

On Saturday evening, October 2 6th, we were relieved by the 310th 



7 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Infantry and took up a position in Brigade Reserve in the Bois de Negremont. 
This day Lt. Luhn was transferred to "D" Company, and we were again left 
with only one oflBcer. Having lost a great many men, it was necessary to re- 
organize the company again. There were only sufficient men left to form two 
platoons. This position was subject to intermittent shell fire which caused 
occasional casualties. 

The night of October 2 9th-3 0th will be one that will be long remembered 
by those men who were present with us. The enemy had been shelling us the 
entire evening without causing any casualties. It was about 1:30 A. M. a 
shell, the last one he fired that night, struck a tree directly over our camp and 
exploded. It killed or wounded 14 men, and Lt. Lahey was also severely 
wounded. Lt. Lahey's bravery at this critical period was such that his men 
never cease praising him. While wounded so seriously that he died two days 
later, he directed the evacuation of all the other wounded men and gave 
instructions to the non-commissioned ofiicers left with the company, before he 
permitted himself to be evacuated. Sgt. Newell, then acting 1st Sergeant, 
was killed instantly by this same shell. Sgt. White was now in command of 
the company and did excellent work keeping the company organized until the 
arrival of Lt. Gardenier. The following day, October 3 0th, the enemy resumed 
their heavy shelling and we suffered several more casualties in killed and 
wounded. During our stay in the Bois de Negremont we were fortunate enough 
to get a bath by walking five miles for it, and a change of underwear, but 
seldom it was indeed that we received more than one meal a day, so contin- 
uous was the enemy shell fire. 

Oct. 2 9th: The position of the company was still in the Bois de Negre- 
mont, in Brigade Reserve. Pvt. Koehler was killed by shell fire during the 
day. Toward evening the shelling let up and was fitful and erratic from that 
time on. Lt. Gardenier arrived in the evening and took command of the com- 
pany which was at the time in charge of Sgt. White. 

Oct. 30th: The morning was spent in reorganizing the company and 
issuing equipment preparatory to the drive which was to start the following 
day. The company was divided into two platoons, the first under Corporal 
Ahearn, and the second under Corporal Thomas White; with Sgt. White second 
in command of the company. Pvt. Koehler was buried at La Nona le Coq, near 
the chateau. There was considerable shelling during the afternoon, but there 
were no casualties, and the appearance of a big consignment of rations in the 
'^^rpning did much to hearten the men. Enemy shell fire had interfered with 
'V-. "Qtions considerably up to this time, as there was but one route the ration 
parties could take and it seemed to be quite familiar to the Boche artillerymen. 

Combat packs were made at night and the company was ready to move 
early in the morning as the 2nd and 3rd Battalions were to attack at dawn. In 
the afternoon a pirate 75 was moved up behind our position and engaged in 
an artillery duel with a Boche battery until late at night. The only result being 
a fairly continuous shelling of our area. 

Nov. 1st: At 2:30 A, M. the barrage preparatory to the launching of the 
second phase of the Meuse-Argonne opened. The sky behind us was a flicker- 
ing, gleaming red. The roar was as of myriad drums rolling almost in unison. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 71 



and the air overhead seemed almost alive with whistling visiting cards to the 
departing Jerry. The effect of this on the men who had heard little but shells 
coming in their direction was tremendous. The men walked about the hills 
whistling and singing and the erstwhile quiet forest was alive with conjectures 
as to what was happening when the winged death that was flying overhead 
arrived at its destination. After the firing had ceased there was extreme 
quietness and there was no activity during the night. 

Nov. 2nd: The company was held in readiness throughout the day, and 
after mess in the evening packs were slung and the Battalion moved out. It 
began to rain just at the start, and the path we followed in the pitch black 
forest was steep and slippery. We progressed slowly over the plain between 
la Nona le Coq and the Aire River and entered the shell torn town of Grand 
Pre. Passing through the ruins along the Kron Printz Strasse, we went north 
to the road fork between Grand Pre and Ferme des Loges. Here the company 
was detached from the Battalion, Lt. Conroy was placed in command and we 
waited for trucks to enable us to overtake the now flying enemy. Trucks were 
hoarded about 11:00 P. M. and we bumped over the shell-torn road in the 
general direction of Germany, until our way was blocked by a mine hole not 
yet repaired. We debussed and hiked to Briquenay, v»rhere we found the 312th 
Infantry had the situation in hand and with the exception of about twenty men 
who formed an ammunition detail for the 309th Machine Gun Battalion, we 
turned into some German billets about 2:30 A. M. The infantry advance up 
to this time had been so swift that the artillery had been unable to catch up 
to us, having set up their guns three times without firing a shot. 

Nov. 3rd: During the day the 2nd Battalion passed through Briquenay 
and we were held there. Most of the time was spent in improvising meals and 
oxD^oring the debris left by the enemy in his hasty flight. Toward evening 
about 200 American airplanes in combat formation flew over going north. 
Lt. Conroy returned to Battalion Headquarters. About 5:00 P. M. the rest ox 
the Battalion moved out and through a misunderstanding the company was left 
behind. When our plight was discovered we set out for Germond, and after 
passing a Battalion of the 308th Infantry on the road arrived just in time 
to get the last available billets. Germond at that time held the four Regimental 
P. C.'s of our division, one of the 77th and somewhere in the neighborhood of 
2,0 00 troops. 

Nov. 4th: At 5:00 A. M. we started for Authe, after the heartrending 
procedure of passing a battalion of the 308th Infantry lined up for a hot meal. 
We went through Authe to Brieulles under fairly heavy shell fire where the 
road had been blown up, six mines having been placed at a bridge and we 
were forced to make a long detour through a swamp. From there we proceeded 
to Les Petites Armoises as the advanced guard of the Brigade. It was a 
gruelling hike and considering the condition of the men, the spirit shown was 
remarkable, and we halted south of the town only four men less than we had 
left Germond with in the morning. Artillery was quite active there and we 
witnessed some wonderful work by German batteries and an airplane in 
destroying a group of buildings to the west of us. 

On entering the town we were greeted by delighted civilians who had 



72 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

been under German rule for four years and who gave us some atrocious black 
bread covered vvrlth lard which almost tasted good. They also warned us that 
the enemy had a machine gun nest to the north of the village. 

After deploying we started up the hill, and soon as scouts appeared above 
the crest machine guns opened up on them. In the subsequent reconnaissance 
Privates Sullivan and Burchell were killed by machine gun fire. One gun was 
located about 300 meters in front of us and in an effort to flank its position 
the right of the company was deployed along the crest of the hill, and was in 
position to rush it, but it was cut off by fire from the flank. After three 
attempts Sgt. White brought the left flank to a similar position only to have the 
advance halted by another machine gun. As it seemed impossible to advance 
without auxiliary weapons the company was withdrawn and dug in half way 
down the hill. "D" company established contact on our left but there was 
nothing on our right but German machine guns. Corporal Miller led a patrol 
in an effort to put the guns out of action, but was unsuccessful because of the 
covering ftre from other guns and the openness of the country. About 3:00 
P. M. two airplanes arrived and one by his near presence causing a Boche 
plane to retire, dropped a message which said "There are Boche machine guns 
in a shell hole 200 meters to your front." This information was somewhat 
superfluous, but the affair was interesting. The other plane, endeavoring to 
locate Company "D" flew too low and landed on a hill about 500 yards in front 
of our line. The aviator unhurt got out of the machine and in spite of the 
hails of our outpost he headed for Germany and was seen no more. The plane 
was dragged by the enemy to a point north of Tannay and demolished. About 
5:00 P. M. Boche artillery opened up and played a steady stream of Are on the 
town, and by no means neglected our position. A strong point made up of men 
from Company "C" was scarcely located in their new position when a shell 
severely wounded two of their men. The loss of our First Aid Man who was 
killed by a shell early in the evening greatly handicapped the evacuation of 
the wounded. 

From 5:00 P. M. to 1:00 A. M. there was a perfect hail of shells and 
machine gun bullets while enemy airplanes dropped bombs on the town itself. 
Corporal Peter did excellent work during this time keeping the outposts 
organized. Casualties — killed 5, wounded 9. 

Nov. 5th: About 3:30 A. M. the enemy machine guns pulled out and at 
5:00 A. M. the company retired to les Petites Armoises for breakfast and then 
went on to Tannay. After reconnaissance by the Battalion a patrol of 3 men 
was called for to establish a strong point in a patch of woods northwest of the 
town. An effort was also to be made to obtain liaison with units on our right. 
The first platoon was called upon and though practically exhausted they res- 
ponded promptly and went up to take their position. Lt. Gardenier with three 
runners went on until contact was established with the 16 5th Infantry just 
north of Sy. Sgt. Ahearn meanwhile, finding no opposition in the woods 
designated, pushed his jaded men to the edge of the Bois de Mont Diens, about 
two kilometers further on and began to exchange courtesies with a lonely 
machine gunner. To this detachment belongs the distinction of being the unit 
of the 7 8th Division nearest Germany when the relief came. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 73 



When the 166th Infantry had leapfrogged us at 3:30 P. M., the company 
pulled hack into Tannay at 4:15 P. M. just in time to begin hiking back. It 
was rain-ng again, and it was a dismal hike to Les Petites Armoises where no 
billets were available, and the only alternative was Brieulles, 7 kilometers 
'urtner on. Over a road pitted with shell holes, filled with troops, transport 
and artillery headed in the opposite direction, the company plodded on, arriving 
at Brieulles about midnight. A conservative estimate of the distance covered 
by the tirst platoon that day is thirty kilometers and all under the most trying 
conditions. On reaching Brieulles we shared a church with "C" company and 
while some saj: up and others stood crowded into corners, everybody slept. We 
left Brieulles at 5:00 A. M. and hiked to Authe where, Nov. 6th, a hot break- 
fast put new life in the company, which was fortunate, because though we did 
not know it at the start, there were twenty-two gruelling kilometers in front of 
us. After hiking continuously until 5:30 P. M. we reached La Folie Ferme 
and stayed the night in these familiar haunts. 

Nov. 7th: Packs were slung and we were on the move early in the 
morning and after hiking until 4:00 P. M. we were presented with a soaked, 
battered section of the Argonne not far from Appremont, and told to make 
ourselves comfortable. We were doing the best we could when there was an 
unholy din and a fireworks display, owing to a signal corps outfit hearing 
■'Otticially" that the war was over. We mistook it for a German air raid, 
however, so we did not derive much comfort therefrom. But it is worthy of 
notice because it was the beginning of the greatest conglomeration of rumors 
in the history of civilized warfare. 

Nov. 8th: It took most of the day trying to follow out the order to make 
ourselves comfortable and we were just beginning to accomplish this when on 
the morning of November 9th we pulled out and hiked to Florent, remaining 
there the following day. Lt. Gartley, who had joined on November 8th, assisted 
the company commander in re-acquainting the jaded doughboys with the intri- 
cacies of the manual of arms and that evening the pearly notes of "Retreat" 
and The Star Spangled Banner made us feel nearly civilized again. The rumors 
were still running high. 

Nov. 11th: On this historic day the 1st Battalion celebrated by taking 
its longest hike of the Meuse-Argonne Campaign. We moved from Florent to 
Varimont, a distance of twenty-nine good long kilometers. While we were 
passing through Ste Menehould, the French papers with gigantic headlines 
"C'EST SIGNE" were shown us and we passed innumerable grinning French 
men and women repeating over and over again the words which were like 
music to our ears — "la Guerre Finie." 

We arrived at Varimont about 5:00 P. M. nearly exhausted and resumed 
back area existence at once. 

Nov. 12th-14th: Our stay in Varimont was punctuated by determined 
efforts to get separated from Argonne Mud and getting policed up and gener- 
ally put in shape for a Fifth Avenue parade, which was to come off very soon. 
Lt. Gartley left for the 1st Division. 

Nov. 15th: The company moved to Givry-en-Argonne to act as a loading 
detail for the Brigade which was to entrain, and the following day was spent 
in that occupation. 



74 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY. 



Nov. 17th: The company entrained about 11:00 P. M. and started on a 
two-day journey to Les Laumes, where they arrived about 3:00 P. M. on the 
19th. With much grunting and puffing the initial ascent of the now well 
known hill was made, and about 5:00 P. M. we arrived at Flavigny. which 
was to be our home until we began our journey homeward. 

CHAPTER VIII 
FLiAA IGN Y-SUR-OZE R AI N 



It might be interesting to insert here a brief description of Flavigny, taken 
from a letter written home by one of the men: 

"To say the least, Flavigny is a town that is somewhat interesting. There 
is a bit of history attached to the place in that we are told that Caesar fought a 
battle against the Germanic people in this neighborhood about 5 5 B. C, using 
the plateau across the valley as his base for operations against a town a few 
miles from here. 

"Flavigny was then standing on its present site, although, perhaps, much 
smaller than it is today, and there are no evidences that any of the buildings 
then existing are now standing. It would hardly seem possible that they could 
be. Today, the village stands on the top of a high plateau, which is reached by 
a road winding around the mountain. Although it was a cold dismal day 
when we came here, we were dripping with perspiration by the time we reached 
the top. 

"It is a walled village — part of the wall being formed by some of the 
buildings — having three entrances large enough for vehicles and a third one 
large enough for only persons or animals in single file. The main entrance, 
"La Porte du Bourg," opening to the road up which we came and which seems 
to have its ending in the centre of the town. About a quarter of a mile before 
reaching the town this road branches off to the left, winding around some farm 
buildings, and running along the outside of the wall overlooking the valley, 
p^d as it passes the rear of the village making a steep descent into the valley 
again. 

"Opening into this road at about the centre of the village is the second 
entrance, "La Porte du Val." While this entrance seems to be of less import- 
ance than the others, as it is reached from the inside by a narrow alley, yet it 
is well protected, or was considered so as regards weapons of mediaeval war- 
fare. There are two towers built of heavy stone, one on either side of the gate, 
each with peep-holes at the height of a man's head. Between the towers and 
over the gate the wall is about twelve feet high, so built that soldiers standing 
on a ledge running behind the wall and over the gate from tower to tower could 
fire down on anyone along the road, or who might be trying to approach the 
town up the side of the mountain. 

"Everything here is built of stone, of course, but with the exception of 
the more modern buildings there is decay everywhere. In many places the 
wall is crumbling and the houses are patched and crumbling and the thatched 
roofs are covered with moss, mould and dirt collected for ages. At "La Porte 
du Val," one of the gates which is still hanging being made of wood, worm- 



IN THE WORLD WAR 7 5 



eaten and decayed, looks as if a slight puff of wind would blow it to dust. 

"There are a very few new buildings. Some of these are stucco and seem 
to be quite modern. 

"A large church stands near the centre of the town in whose tower is a 
clock which rings out the time every fifteen minutes. 

"There is only one or possibly two streets in the town large enough to be 
called streets, but there is a great maze of little narrow alleys running every- 
where and crossing, turning sharply around corners, sometimes leading into a 
barnyard, and again plumb into the side of a building and others seem to lead 
nowhere. Sometimes you will start for a store just a block down the alley, 
when suddenly you find you have chased yourself right back to where you 
started from, having reached nowhere, not even the end of the alley. It is one 
of these that begins in the centre of the town where the street through "La 
Porte du Bourg" stops, and after winding and twisting around a bit leads you 
to the little entrance at the rear of the village from which a steep, narrow path 
leads to the Valley of the Ozerain. 

"The village is electrically lighted, gets its current from a little power- 
house down by the Ozerain River. 

"A convent building and grounds occupies a large portion of the village 
extending from near "La Porte du Val" to the extreme lower corner of the 
town. 

"About half way between "La Porte du Bourg" and "La Porte du Val" is 
another entrance, just inside of which is a large and very old abbaye. Both 
this and the convent are now used for the accommodation of tourists and 
travelers. 

"Just outside this entrance the Y. M. C. A. building stands. The road 
going from this entrance leads to the inevitable wash-house where on wash- 
days congregate a large number of women with large bundles of clothes and 
plenty of gossip. 

"There is a Post and Telegraph Office combined, as is usual in France, a 
butcher shop, several grocery stores, a bake shop, drug store, barber, tailor, 
milliner, wooden shoe maker, barrel maker, rope maker, numberless cafes and 
little shops. 

"Inside the majority of homes are neat and well-kept even where one room 
has to serve as kitchen, dining room, living room and bed room, often serving 
all purposes at one time. There are, of course, more prosperous homes that 
are as pleasant and comfortable as those we have in America." 

This was our home for over five months. That time will be merely 
sketched, as it was a monotonous existence punctuated by flurries of excitement 
caused by rumors of westward bound ships with which we never connected. 
Imaginary Bolsheviki were driven from every hillside; the Campe de Cesare 
was the slaughter house for thousands of imaginary machine gunners; and 
drills and manuevres of every sort made up the schedule. Mr. McNab tried 
(and failed) to get us excited about the gentle art of rifle shooting. French 
weather was at its abominable worst. But through it all, if the writer may 
insert a personal tribute into an impersonal history, through it all there was 
in Company "B" a bunch of boys whom it was both a pleasure and an inspir- 
ation to be with. Joking at discomforts, chafing, but bearing with as much 



7 6 COMPANY B, 3I1TH INFANTRY. 

courage as it took to face the Hun, the seemingly interminable wait and show- 
ing a s.pirit, a snap, and a dash which overcame everything, you formed a body 
of men which was a privilege to command and a pleasure to serve. 

The month of March arrived, bringing with it the news that the 78th 
Division would return to the United States in May. The weather was still 
unchanged, but notwithstanding that they were slopping around in the mud 
and wet from the continual rains, and every "good rumor" that came floating 
around was eventually salvaged, the men were still in fine spirits. 

Towards the end of the month it was officially announced that the Division 
would begin to move towards a port April 16th, and on April 6th it passed 
into the command of the S. O. S., but also came the rather disheartening news 
that our movement had been postponed for ten days, and by the time the 2 6th 
-.^11^.1 around it had been further postponed until May 2nd, causing a down- 
cast of spirits that had not obtained since our arrival in France. However it 
was quite evident that our time of departure was drawing near by the various 
preparations that were taking place, and when it finally became definitely 
known that we were to go direct to Bordeaux instead of having to pass through 
Le Mans, the spirit of the men took a remarkable jump and then, when it was 
announced that the movement from Flavigny would begin with Headquarters 
company's departure on Sunday, May 4th, their joy was unbounded, and this 
was not noticeably marred by the last days of April being the bearer of the 
heaviest and longest snow storm that we had experienced. Saturday night. 
May 4th, Taps was blown by a quartette of cornets from the Regimental Band, 
and farev/ell parties were held in nearly every home in Flavigny. 

CHAPTER IX 
HOMEWARD BOUND 



At 7:00 A. M. Monday, May 5th, "B" Company "fell in" in front of the 
Abbaye with full equipment, and at eight o'clock, with the command: SQUADS 
RIGHT, MARCH, mov*ed out with the remaining troops, from the town that 
had been our home for nearly half a year, and our long journey homeward had 
at last really begun. By easy marches we reached Les Laumes-Alesia Station 
at 10:00 A. M., where we were given a big dinner by the American Red Cross, 
consisting of a good beef stew, bread, jam, coffee (with both milk and sugar 
in it), apple sauce, cigarettes and candy, which was followed by hot chocolate 
and cakes given to us by pretty Y. M. C. A. girls. At 12:30 P. M. we entrained 
in American "60 Hommes-20 Chevaux," which we had lined with bed sacks: 
filled with straw and about thirty-five men to a car, which proved the most 
comfortable ride we had had since our arrival in Europe nearly a year 
previous. We made several stops to get coffee or warmed corned beef. The 
trip lasted about 42 hours, arriving at St. Jean Station, Bordeaux, at 4:00 
A. M. May 7th, from which we marched to the "Entrance Camp," reaching 
there at 9:00 A. M. and immediately having breakfast served. The men were 
kept pretty busy during the day on various details, and the following morning, 
May 8th, we left this camp and marched about a mile to the "Permanent 
Camp." The memory of this camp will probably remain with most of us by 
reason of the "MILL," which was the first thing to which we were introduced 



IN THE WORLD WAR 77 



and which consumed most of the conversation during our stay here. 

The MILL was well named in every respect. First we were marched into 
a "hangar" very similar to those used to house air planes. This had a dirt 
Hoor and after unslinging packs the men filed along one side of the hangar 
leaving their rifles in a heap, then filed back to their packs. Next they took 
their blankets which had been rolled together before leaving the Entrance 
Camp, and threw them in a pile. Next, everything the soldier carried was 
placed in his shelter half and carried thru a wicket gate, by which stood a long 
desk behind which were several men. The first asked your name and army 
serial number, which he wrote on two slips of paper which you had to sign. 
This seemed quite natural because no one knew what they were signing, and 
if anyone should stop to ask he would be informed that he would learn that in 
due time, a statement which no one doubted because no one thought any more 
about that phase of it, probably for the reason that about one-tenth of a 
doughboy's time is spent in signing papers he does not know anything about, 
the same being part of his military training. 

The next man took the "dog tags" and asked your name and number and 
compared your answer with the tags; if they agreed all well and good, if ihey 
disagreed something was checked on the slip of paper you had signed and you 
began to wonder how many checks you would get and if each check meant an 
additional month in France, or an extra tour of K. P. The next man gave you 
a Red Cross bag which often brought a smile because of the name — "American 
Red Cross" was stamped in ink on a white patch on the bag, otherwise you 
would have looked for a deduction on the next payroll. At this time someone 
in the farthest corner of the building called out a number which sounded like 
a cell number, but which proved to be nothing more than their manner of 
ushering you to a certain litter into which you dumped everything you had, 
from your steel helmet which had just been painted to your last handkerchief 
which you had failed to wash. The object of this being for the man to see if 
you had more than he did. If you did not have as much, he handed you a 
barrack bag and helped you to put all your things into it except such personal 
things as your pocket book, tooth brush, shaving brush, etc. These you put in 
the Red Cross bag, then handed your slip of paper to the man who then asked 
what you had in the barrack bag or on your back. If you guessed right, all 
right; if you guessed wrong he checked an item on the slip of paper. 

If you did not like your blouse he would give you a chance to draw 
again. If your underclothes were too large for you he would give you a 
chance to draw a larger pair, and so on. After you were all out of breath 
talking to this man, you hung your Red Cross Bag around your neck, threw 
your Barrack Bag on your shoulder and marched out of the door across a wood 
pile to another building in which was another long row of desks, and for a 
moment you thought you were going to get your discharge papers toote de 
suite, but these hopes were soon dashed to the ground. An officer handed you 
your Service Record, which seemed rather a strange thing because the com- 
pany clerk said that he had it when you asked him the day before you left 
Flavigny. Struggfing along with this in one hand and dragging your barrack 
bag with the other you passed down the line until you came to a blank file 
with a typewriter and a man behind it. 



78 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



Here you stopped and handed him your Service Record, after which he 
asked you your name, number, name and address of your wife or mother. He 
evidently wanted to know this in the event you did not come through the mill 
alive he could advise your nearest relative that you had been killed in action, 
or words to that effect. When you afterwards inquired what this slip was you 
were informed that it was a certificate to show that you had been through the 
mill. But why snould they issue such a certificate before you had been through? 
Probably the government took a chance like the doughboy does when he signs 
the pay roll a month before he gets paid. If he did not sign re would not get 
paid and often when he does sign he don't get paid, so "sanferriens." Any way 
this man kept the Service Record, "mill slip," and all, and you were ushered 
into the engine room. 

There was a great racket going on and your heart was beating like a trip 
hammer. You remembered you had not cut your toe nails for several weeks 
and you wondered if they would scratch your neck. You also wondered what 
part of your body went in first. Some one ordered you to move along, and 
along you moved until you came to a bin which reminded you of where your 
grandfather kept his potatoes. You looked around for the man who was 
administering the "Dope," because you heard nobody scream or groan — or 
were some of those noises groans? Through the middle of this bin ran a rail- 
road and in the middle of the track stood a man issuing orders, none of which 
you understood. Besides, the man in the bin behind you was talking louder 
than the man in your bin, so that you heard more of what he said than of what 
your man said; but after listening for a while you gleaned the fact that you 
were supposed to take off all your clothes, which you did. 

By that time two large doors in the side of the building opened and out 
came a car that looked like the ones they have in circuses to carry animals in, 
which was divided into compartments with numbers corresponding with the 
number of your bin, which were full of shelves and hooks. Into your compart- 
ment on this car you put everything you had except the articles in the Red 
Cross bag. This you still had hung around your neck. Everything had to be 
taken out of the Barrack bag; your puttees could not be wound; your under- 
clothes and socks which you took off were not put in the car however. They 
said this was to kill the cooties, and suddenly you had a feeling of pity for the 
poor cootie. As suddenly as the car came out of these big doors it went back 
again and the doors were closed; then you were ordered to pick up your 
soiled underclothes and "move along." A little further along you threw your 
soiled underclothes out of a window marked "Salvaged Clothes." You were 
wearing your shoes but nothing else. As you passed out of this room you were 
handed a towel and as you entered the next room you were met by a couple of 
doctors who asked you if you had been to Paris and then refused to take your 
word that you had not. From here you entered the bath room where you had 
the grand and glorious feeling of a real shower bath, although the so-called 
soap was beyond description. From here you passed another long line of 
doctors that reminded you cf your first day at camp, and then you passed into 
a room which reminded you of Gimbel Brothers at home. Your famous slip of 
paper which had been kept in your Red Cross Bag, now came into use and you 
began to learn the reason for it. Everything that your Supply Sergeant at 



IN THE WORLD WAR 79 



Flavigny had refused to give you was handed to you here. First you were 
given a suit of underclothes and a pair of socks to take the place of the ones 
you had salvaged. Then down the line you went, getting new blankets for the 
ones you had left In the hangar, and new trousers for the ones you had said 
were no good, and even a new tape for your dog tags. From here you passed 
into another bin similar to the first one, and while you were putting on your 
underclothes out came the car with all your things on it, but everything so hot 
you could hardly touch them. Poor cooties, not a one remained alive to tell 
of v/hat happened inside. 

After dressing, which you had to do in four seconds less than a minute, 
you stuffed everything into the barrack bag except your overcoat which you put 
on, and, with barrack bag over your shoulder and your slip of paper in your 
hand, you passed into another room. Here you handed said slip of paper to a 
man whom you could just see over the top of a heap of them, then passed by a 
man who examined the condition of your hair and then passed outside with the 
perspiration streaming down your face and marched about two blocks down 
the street to another building. There you completed your toilet and were 
guided to your company barracks which was either 212, 214 or 216, and there 
you set yourself down more exhausted than you were the day you marched 
from Florent to Varimont. But you were still in the army though not in the 
mill, and there was work to be done. The first detail was to carry all the 
rifles from the mill to the barracks. You Vi-ere given dinner and then given 
more detail, and more detail the next day. 

Friday, May 9th, the commanding officer was notified that Company "B" 
would embark the next day, and accordingly, at 5:00 P. M. Saturday, May 11th, 
the company was lined up and marched to the American Docks, reaching them 
about 7:00 P. M. A peculiar coincidence it was, that during the greater part 
of this march it rained. It had been bright and clear all day but when we 
started on our last march in France the sky became darkened, with a heavy 
cloud, and shortly after we had started for the docks it began to rain and did 
not clear until after we had embarked. After reaching the dock, we were 
served sandwiches, chocolate, cigarettes, candy, and a handkerchief by the Red 
Cross. Miss Colby, the Y. M. C. A. worker who had been with us all winter 
at Flavigny, followed us to the dock and there bade us good-bye. She was not 
to return to America for several months. The rest of the Y. M. C. A. outfit 
had departed with Regimental Headquarters. Mr. Allen, the K. of C. worker 
who had been with us at Flavigny, returned to America with us. We embarked 
at 8:00 P. M. May 10th, on the good ship "OTSEGO," formerly the Prince Eitel 
Fredrich III, one of the German liners that had been turned over to the Amer- 
ican Government for the transportation of troops to America. It was her 
second trip in this service. 

The trip was long, somewhat tedious, and uneventful. The food was 
excellent, the best we had had since we had left home. The Azores lay along 
our route and we passed close enough to see some of the buildings. A couple 
of schools of small whales were sighted, and porpoises were continually playing 
about the ship. The third or fourth day out we began to have trouble with 
the boilers, which continued nearly all the way across, which accounted for the 
length of the voyage. On the morning of the 2 5th we passed the "Ambrose" 



80 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Lightship and soon after sighted land. We expected to dock in the afternoon, 
but it was five o'clock when we entered the Upper Bay at New York and drop- 
ped anchor off St. Georges, S. I. Many small boats loaded with sight-seers 
came by. The Mayor's Committee of New York City brought a band to play 
for us. The next morning, May 26th, 1919, about eight o'clock we weighed 
anchor and sailed up the river to Hoboken, where we docked a half hour later. 
We were given a light lunch by the Red Cross and were then put on a river 
boat and went to the West Shore docks, where we got on a train and went to 
("!?irnT) Merritt. It was a grand and glorious feeling to be riding in an American 
train once more. We arrived at Camp Merritt about 11:00 A. M. and had 
lunch shortly after. In the afternoon we again went through the mill or 
"Sanitary Process" and the next morning went to a different part of the camp, 
where the company was broken up into Casual Detachments. The men from 
most of the Southern and Western camps being assigned to Hoboken Casual 
Detachments, and the others into Camp Dix, Camp Upton, or Camp Grant 
Casual Detachments. We did not move out, however, until Sunday afternoon, 
June 1st. Passes were issued daily, however, and a majority of the men took 
advantage of this privilege and went home to visit their folks. At 2:00 P. M. 
June 1st, the Camp Dix C. D. entrained for Camp Dix, where we arrived at 
7:00 P. M. and immediately turned in all our equipment and ther marched to 
the barracks formerly occupied by the Third Battalion. 

June 2nd: All company records were turned in and Company "B" was 
only a memory. The days dragged slowly by until Thursday, June 5th, when 
we had our final examination. One incident happened at this time which to us 
seemed almost tragical. A Welcoming Committee from Elizabeth came down 
Wednesday, June 4th, three days after we entered Camp Dix, to see the 
Elizabeth boys, and upon inquiring at Camp Headquarters for our location, 
were told that we were not in the Camp, as they had no record of us. This 
probably was the reason why several outfits that arrived in camp as late as 
Wednesday were discharged ahead of us. Saturday morning, June 7th, is a 
day in the lives of the remaining men of Company "B" 311th Infantry never 
to be forgotten, as it was then that we received our final pay and discharge 
from the Army and once more became civilians. 



COMPLETE ALPHABETICAL ROSTER 

OP 

COMPANY "B," 311TH INFANTRY 

Including all oflBcers and men assigned to and present with the company 
upon arrival in France, and all replacements of men received overseas. 

The information shown in the following roster is compiled from data from 
the Company Records. The information regarding men who were wounded is 
taken from reports sent in to Personnel Headquarters of the Regiment by the 
Medical Detachment and Battalion Headquarters. All the information is shown 
regarding men killed in action that was obtainable from the records of the 
Regiment and from eye witnesses. 

All men shown as having joined prior to May 19th were with the company 
when it arrived in France; those who joined October 12, 1918, were replace- 
ments from the 8 6th Division. 

Men who were wounded or evacuated for other causes did not return to the 
company unless so stated. All other men returned to the United States with 
the company except a few who were kept at the port of embarkation on 
account of missing records, which was due to no fault of theirs. 



ROSTER OF OFFICERS ASSIGNED TO AND SERVING WITH THE COMPANY 
AT VARIOUS TIMES FROM DATE OF LEAVING THE UNITED STATES, 
MAY 19, 1918, UNTIL DATE OF RETURN TO THE UNITED STATES, 
MAY 26, 1919. 

Bell, John P., Capt. U. S. Inf. 

109 Dauphin Street, Mobile, Alabama. Joined company April 20, 1919, 
and was in command from that date until the company was mustered out. 

Colonna, B. Allison, Capt. U. S. Inf. 

c/o C. D. Jackson & Co., 140th St. and Locust Ave., New York, N. Y. 
Assigned to company late in the year 1917; was in command at time of 
departure for over seas and until September 28, 1918, when he left for 
detached service at Army School of the Line. Returned to company Jan- 
uary 4, 1919, and was in command until March 1st. Left March 3rd for 
detached service with A. E. F. University at Beaune, France. Transferred 
to 5th Division April 11th and returned to the United States in May, 1919. 

Devereux, John C, 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

413 Genesee Street, Utica, N. Y. Joined company April 6, 1919, and was 
in command from April 15th until April 20th. Returned to United States 
with company. 

Dunn, Raymond B., 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

c/o R. B. Dunn & Co., Knoxville, Tenn. With company as a 2nd Lieuten- 
ant at time of departure overseas; appointed 1st Lieut'-'ant in October, 



82 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

1918. In command from September 28th until October 9th, on which 
date he was taken sick and evacuated. Mentioned in 7 8th Division Gen- 
eral Orders No. 6 for bravery on September 2 6th. 

Foulkes, Louis S., Jr., Capt. U. S. Inf. 

c/o Rochester Stamping Co., Rochester, N. Y. With company as a 1st 
Lieutenant at time of departure overseas and was 2nd in command. Trans- 
ferred and made 1st Battalion Adjutant July 11th; made Regimental 
Adjutant September 28th. 

Uardenier, David, 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

Chatham, N. Y. Joined company October 29, 1918, and was in command 
from that date until January 4, 1919. Transferred and made 1st Battalion 
Adjutant April 6, 1919. 

Lahey, William S., 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

520 Summit Avenue, Jersey City, N. J. Joined company October 9, 1918, 
and was in command from that date until October 29th, when he was 
severely wounded in left side of face and neck by shrapnel while in 
support lines behind Grand Pre. Died of wounds October 31st, and on 
same date orders arrived appointing him captain. 

Merrill, Henry M., 2nd Lt. U. S. Inf. 

72 Center Street, Brookline, Mass. Sailed for overseas with advanced 
party May 9, 1918. Rejoined company in Brunembert Area July 8th. 
Severely wounded in left foot by shrapnel September 2 4th while on outpost 
duty and returned to United States in October, 1918. 

Norton, Robert H., 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

482 Clinton Avenue, Albany, N. Y. Joined company January 8, 1919. In 
command from March 1st to April 15th, on which date he was transferred 
to M. P. Corps Replacement Camp, Parigne, L'Evaque, Le Mans Area. 

froctor, William S., 2nd Lt. U. S. Inf. 

67 North Central Avenue, Columbus, Ohio. Joined company in April. 

1919, and returned to United States with company. 
Schuyler, Roy A., 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

(Andrew J. Schuyler, father), Pattersonville, Schenectady County, N. Y. 
Sailed for overseas with advanced party May 9, 1918. Rejoined company 
in Brunembert Area July 5th. Killed in action September 26, 1918, by 
shrapnel through head while leading his platoon in an attack upon enemy 
positions. Mentioned in 78th Division General Orders No. 6 for bravery 
on this date. 

Shanks, Thomas H., 2nd Lt. U. S. Inf. 

6 54 Kempton Street, New Bedford, Mass. Joined company December 4, 
1918, and returned to United States with company. 

Vanderbilt, Herbert R., 1st Lt. U. S. Inf. 

17 Sherwood Avenue, Ossining, N. Y. With company at time of departure 
for overseas. Reported missing in action September 2 6th. Was prisoner 
in Camp Karlsrhue, Germany. Returned to Regiment in January, 1919, 
and assigned to Company "D." 



COMPLETE ALPHABETICAL ROSTER OF MEN ASSIGNED TO COMPANY 
FROM DATE OF LEAVIN(; THE UNITED STATES FOR OVERSEAS 
SERVICE, MAV 19, 1918, UNTIL DATE OF RETURN TO THE UNITED 
STATES, MAY 26, 1919. 

Accetturo, Anthony, No. 2040459, Private. (Address unknown). Enlisted March 

29, 1918; joined company Sept. 9th. Taken sick Oct. 25, 1918, and 

evacuated. 
Ackerman, William, No. 1737299, Pvt. 1st Class. Miss Minnie Ackerman, sister, 

941 Washington Street, c/o The Lutheran Home, Buffalo, N. Y. Reported 

Missing in Action September 26, 1918. Was last seen by Cpl. Sutton 

leaning against a tree with a large hole in his neck. Advice received from 

Central Records OflBce that he died from wounds Sept. 2 6th. He enlisted 

April 2, 1918, and joined company same date. 
Ackerman, William. No. 2451126, Corporal, 860 Fox Street, Bronx, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. 
Ahearn, Walter J., No. 2411094, Sergeant. Keansburg, N. J. Enlisted 

February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 
Albitz, Oscar, No. 3746398, Pvt. 1st Class. 928 South Third Street, LaCrosse, 

Wisconsin. Enlisted July 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Aldridge, Joseph S. Jr., No. 2414730, Pvt. 1st Class. 319 Union Avenue, 

Elizabeth, N. J. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. 

Decorated for deed of bravery performed September 26th. 
Allen, Frank C, No. 2568100, Corporal. 309 Pleasant Street, Petaluma, 

California. Enlisted March 10, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Taken sick December 2 2d and evacuated. 
Amann, Walter G., No. 1749246, Pvt. 1st Class. 292 Terrace Avenue, Jersey 

City, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Wounded 

by mustard gas burns October 22d; rejoined company December 16th. 
Anderson, George J., No. 1763315, Private. 24 Eddywood Avenue, Springfield, 

Mass. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 
Anderson, John A., No. 3752380, Corporal. Box 40, Route 2, Turtle Lake, Wis. 

Enlisted July 2 5, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Andrzejewski, Stanislaw, No. 1752094, Private. 176 Barnard Street, Buffalo, 

N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 
Angevine, William A., No. 1748872, Private. 919 Park Avenue, Hoboken, 

N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Served with 

Railhead Detachment during campaign. 
Anness, Peyton R., No. 1746065, Sergeant. "The Belnord," Broadway & 86th 

Street, New York City. Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company 

October 11th. Transferred to Depot Division, 1st Army Corps, A. E. F., 

July 27, 1918. 
Annibalini, Aldo, No. 652015. Private. 251 South Division Street, Buffalo, 

N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Wounded in 

action (degree undetermined) September 26th. Rejoined company 

December 16th. 



8 4 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Apicelli, Joseph, No. 2410760, Corporal. (Salvatore Apicelli, father), 1505 
Somerfleld Street, Asbury Park, N. J. Killed in action September 2 6th in 
Bois St. Claude, by sniper's bullet through head while leading his squad 
to attack machine gun. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company 
same date. 
Arcuri, Carmine, No. 2450304, Private. (Reitano Arcuri, brother), 132 South 
Main Street, Port Chester, N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company 
same date. Killed in action September 2 6th in Bois St. Claude, by sniper's 
bullet through head while advancing with his automatic rifle in an attack 
on enemy positions. 
Ashlock, Newton C, No. 1757769, Corporal. Carrolton, 111. Enlisted April 29, 

1918; joined company April 26, 1919. 
Awe, John A., No. 3754195, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 4, Box 67, Greenwood, Wis. 

Enlisted July 2 5, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Baiano, Carmelo, No. 24 51001, Private, Broadway, Dobbs Ferry, N. Y. Enlisted 
April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. Slightly wounded by shrapnel 
in right foot September 26th. 
Ball, Walter V., No. 2451462, Private, 356 Upland Avenue, Yonkers, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. Transferred to 
Headquarters Company, 311th Infantry, June 26th. 
Barnes, Earl, No. 1765247, Pvt. 1st Class. 444 South Park Avenue, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Accidentally wounded September 20th. Returned to United States 
in December, 1918. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 
Barsamian, Hazar, No. 3329308, Private, 67 Minomona Avenue, South 
Milwaukee, Wis. Enlisted May 28, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Slightly wounded by shrapnel in head November 4th. Returned to 
America in December. 
Baumann, William, No. 1749247, Pvt. 1st Class, 147 Congress Street, Jersey 

City, N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. 
Bement, Mervin, No. 1752197, Private, Odessa, N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; 
joined company same date. Went with 303rd Sanitary Train on Detached 
service in July, 1918; taken sick and admitted to Base Hospital No. 4 2 in 
September, and after recovering took up his duties with that unit. 
Benzing, John M., No. 1737291, Pvt. 1st Class, 1058 Smith Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Reported missing in action September 2 6, 1918. Was prisoner at 
Camp Rastatt, Germany. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same 
date. 
Benzschawel, Joseph, No. 3754197, Mechanic, Route 3, Box 81, Thorp, Wis. 

Enlisted July 2 5, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Bernhard, John, No. 1749249, Private, 381 New York Avenue, Jersey City, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Reported missing in 
action September 26th; was prisoner in Camp Rastatt, Germany. Returned 
to company January 16, 1919. 
Bernstein, Barnett, No. 2 4 09686, Private, Sixteenth Avenue, Belmar, N. J. 

Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 
Best, Harry C, No. 1737292, Pvt. 1st Class, 140 Zenner Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 85 



Birk, William, No. 1737293, Private, 610 Broadway, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted 
April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Reported missing in action 
September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany. 

Bishop, Joseph, No. 2411096, Pvt. 1st Class, Everett, N. J. Enlisted February 
2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Reported missing in action Sept- 
ember 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany. Rejoined company 
January 7, 1919. 

Blair, James, No. 1765248, Private, 51 Mineral Spring Road, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Bloome, Peter, No. 3336326, Pvt. 1st Class, Box 147, Annawan, 111. Enlisted 
June 26, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Bloomquist, Gust W., No. 3332154, Pvt. 1st Class, 1712 Eighth Street, Rock- 
ford, 111. Enlisted June 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Blount, George L., No. 2451251, Private, 738 East 137th Street, New York City. 
Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. Reported missing ui 
action September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany. 

Boettcher, Walter, No. 2828102, Private, 868 22d Street, Milwaukee, Wis. 
Enlisted May 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Bogart, William D., No. 1747126, Pvt. 1st Class, 219 Catherine Street, Eliza- 
beth, N. J. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred 
to 1st Replacement Depot, February 16, 1919, for return to United States. 

Bogucki, Stanley F., No. 1737294, Private, 95 Detroit Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded by 
shrapnel in left arm September 19th. 

Borg, Edward, No. 3750612, Private, Route 1, Brantwood, Wis. Enlisted July 
24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Boucher, Joseph A., No. 1748003, Private, 3644% Boulevard, Jersey City, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
left face September 26th; rejoined company January 11, 1919. 

Boyle, Edward H., No. 1765249, Private, 1 Paul Place, Buffalo, N. Y. Trans- 
ferred to 14th General Hospital, Bolougne. France, July 8th. Rejoined 
company April 27, 1919. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same 
date. 

Brand. Arthur F., No. 3329616, Pvt. 1st Class, 345 17th Street, Milwaukee, 
Wis. Enlisted May 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Brenner, Carl M., No. 3746407, Private, (address unknown); joined company 
October 12, 1918. Severely wounded by bullets in left arm, right side, 
and compound fracture of right leg. 

Brooks, Bertrand G., No. 1749251, Private, 579 Central Avenue, Jersey City, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 
wounded in right arm September 26th. 

Broomhall, Harry R., No. 2932965, Pvt. 1st Class, 849 East Avenue, Akron, 
Ohio. Enlisted June 27, 1918; joined company December 10th. 

Brown, Elijah E., No. 2083783, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 6, Aledo, Ohio. Enlisted 
June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Buechler, Louis, No. 17492 50, Private, 598 Tonnell Avenue, Jersey City, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick and 
evacuated October 18th. 



«6 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Burchell, Harold E., No. 1748085, Private, (Mrs. Kitty Burchell, mother), 621 
Main Street, Paterson, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company- 
same date. Killed in action November 4th by machine gun bullet below 
heart during an attack on enemy machine gun nests, near Les Petites 
Armoises (Meuse-Argonne). 

Burke, John F., No. 1752093, Pvt. 1st Class, (Peter Burke, brother), 2000 
Seneca Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April' 3, 1918; joined company 
same date. Severely wounded September 26th by shrapnel in arm, back 
and hips during general attack on enemy positions. Died in Evacuation 
Hospital No. 12, September 2 8th. 

Butler, William G., No. 2414732, Pvt. 1st Class, (Mrs. Hannah Mills, foster 
mother), 821 Jackson Street, Morristown, Penna. Enlisted April 2, 1918; 
joined company same date. Killed in action November 4th, near Les 
Petites Armoise's (Meuse Argonne), by shrapnel, while runner for Battalion 
Headquarters and while on road carrying messages. 

Byreiter, John F., No. 1737296, Pvt. 1st Class, 59 Thomas Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred to 311th 
Infantry Supply Company October 17th. 

Cahill, James E., No. 1749048, Private, (Miss Catherine Cahill, sister), 114 
Monroe Street, Hoboken, N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company 
same date. Killed in action September 26th, at Bois St. Claude, by 
shrapnel, during general advance of the company. 

Calabrese, Dominick, No. 2451322, Sergeant, East Hampton, N. Y. Enlisted 
April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. 

Campanini, Frederick S., No. 17 48 532, Pvt. 1st Class, Washington Street, 
Northvale, N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. 
Accidentally shot in foot and evacuated September 16th. 

Campbell, William J., No. 1765250, Pvt. 1st Class, 42 Edson Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Cantu, Peter E., No. 3340909, Private, (Mrs. Adabell Cantu, wife), 910 West 
Front Street, Davenport, 111. Joined company October 12th. Killed in 
action November 4th, at Les Petites Armoises, by machine gun bullets 
through body, while acting as company runner, du" ing an attack on enemy 
machine gun nests. 

Garden, Anthony, No. 1765251, Pvt. 1st Class, 14 Pembino Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Carr, Charlie, No. 3746410, Pvt. 1st Class, 608 North Ninth Street, LaCrosse. 
Wis. Enlisted July 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Cassely, Joseph R., No. 1749067, Private, 710 Jersey Avenue, Jersey City, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick and 
evacuated November 5th; returned to company March 21, 1919, from Com- 
pany "K," 320th Infantry. 

Centofante, Natale A., No. 1748533, Pvt. 1st Class, P. O. Box 41, Northvale, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Wounded by 
gas and evacuated November 4th. 

Chiaradio, Samuel E., No. 1748534, Pvt. 1st Class, South Palisade Avenue, 
Bloomfield. N. J. B]nlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 87 



Slightly wounded by shrapnel in right shoulder September 2 6th; rejoined 
company November 2d; wounded by gas November 4th. 

Clark, Earl B., No. 3527729, Private, 322 East Mulberry Street, Lancaster, 
Ohio. Enlisted July 22, 1918; joined company December 10th. Trans- 
ferred to Graves Registration Service January 28, 1919. 

Clark, Frank W., No. 1746104, Sergeant, 11 High Street, Elizabeth, N. J. 
Enlisted September 6, 1917; joined company April 21, 1919. Went over- 
seas with company "C," 311th Infantry. 

Closeman, Harry, No. 2076987, Private, 312 Seventh Street, Red Wing, Minn. 
Enlisted June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded 
in right arm October 2 0th. Rejoined company November 16th. 

Cobble, Clarence R., No. 3874973, Private, Route 2, Midway, Tenn. Enlisted 
August 5, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Cocker, Herbert M. P., No. 1750235, Pvt. 1st Class, (Mrs. Marjorie Cocker, 
mother), 17 McKinley Avenue, West Orange, N. J. Enlisted April 1, 1918; 
joined company same date. Reported missing in action September 26th. 
Fate not known. 

Colaguori, Pietro, No. 2411608, Pvt. 1st Class, 136 Westwood Avenue, Long 
Branch, N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 

Cole, Harry Lee, No. 1345828, Private, (address unknown). Joined company 
September 9, 1918. Killed in action October 20th, northwest of Grand 
Pre, during an attack on Ferme des Loges. 

Collura, Rosario, No. 2450663, Pvt. 1st Class, 34 Riverdale Avenue, Yonkers, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. 

Congelosi, Joseph, No. 2085786, Corporal, (address unknown). Enlisted Feb- 
ruary 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded in right 
leg by shrapnel November 4th. 

Connolly, Frank J., No. 2450135, Pvt. 1st Class, 87 West Carroll Street, City 
Island, N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company same date. Taken 
sick and evaci^ated September 19th. Was later assigned to Co. G, 110th 
Infantry. 

Cook, Elmer J., No. 17-18573, Private, Highwood Avenue, Tenafly, N. J. Enlisted 
April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded September 
2 6th in both hands and head. 

Corbine, Charles, No. 3746635, Private, Odnah, Wis. Enlisted July 22, 1918; 
joined company October 12th. 

Cordes, Henry A., No. 1748874, Pvt. 1st Class, 119 Park Avenue, Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. Wounded by 
gas November 4, 1918. 

Cottrell, Alonzo, No. 2409690, Private, Institute Street, Freehold, N. J. En- 
listed February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick and 
evacuated December 2 4th. 

Cowser, Levi C, No. 1415491, Corporal, Goree, Texas. Enlisted May 27, 1918; 
joined company December 10th. 

Croft, Lawrence M., No. 1765253, Pvt. 1st Class, 20 Archer Avenue, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Culkowski, John E., No. 1737297, Pvt. 1st Class, 79 Townsend Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred 



COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



to 1st Replacement Depot, St. Aignan, France, for return to United States. 
in March, 1919. 

Curcio, Joseph M., No. 1748 8 7 5, Private, 719 Clinton Street, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded 
by shell fire in right leg September 19th; returned to company December 
19th; transferred to 1st Replacement Depot, St. Aignan, for return to 
United States March 10, 1919. 

Curtin, Matthew V., No. 1765254, Private. 2 Paul Place, Buffalo, N. Y. En- 
listed April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in left 
leg September 26th. Returned to United States in December, 1918. 

Czajka, Frank, No. 1765255, Private, 139 Weiss Street, Buffalo, N. Y. En- 
listed April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded in 
left hand and head September 26th. Returned to company January 6, 1919. 

Daeschler, Michael, No. 17 6 52 56, Private, 48 Lester Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

]>amato, Guisseppe, No. 1738115, Private, 3 5 Sidney Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Accidentally wounded 
September 26th, received 1st Aid and returned to duty. Again accidentally 
wounded October 30th. Returned to company December 18th. 

Danielson, John, No. 2084548, Private, (address unknown). Enlisted June 24, 
1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded in hip October 22. 

Dash, Harvey R., No. 1765257, Corporal, 93 Macamley Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined cbmpany same date. 

deBruin, Walter, No. 1746077, Cook, Elberon, N. J. Enlisted September 21, 
1917; joined company same date. Burned by mustard gas October 30th, 
but was not evacuated. 

DeGrote, Walter, No. 2411100, Sergeant, Port Monmouth, N. J. Enlisted Feb- 
ruary 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred to 1st Replace- 
ment Depot, St. Aignan, for return to United States, April 28, 1919. 

Deile, Albert, Jr., No. 1749050, Pvt. 1st Class, 83 Jackson Street, Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 

Deleskie, Stanley, No. 2824994, Pvt. 1st Class, (Mrs. Mary Kuczeuski, mother), 
2114 Front Street, East, Ashland, Wis. Joined company October 12, 1918. 
Killed in action October 2 0th, northwest of Grand Pre, by machine gun 
bullets while trying to cross road swept by machine gun fire, during an 
attack on Ferme des Loges. 

Denier, Louis F., No. 1738113, Pvt. 1st Class, 519 Glenwood Avenue, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred to 
Headquarters Company, 311th Infantry, February 20, 1919. 

Devine, Thomas E., No. 2450369, Pvt. 1st Class, 130 Old Pond Road, Beacon, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. Taken sick 
and evacuated September 2d. 

Diskin, James J., No. 2414736, Private, 418 South Broad Street, Elizabeth, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 
wounded in left leg September 26th. 

Dollard, Joseph P., No. 3204125, Private, (Edmund A. Dollard, brother), 124 
Baker Avenue, Syracuse, N. Y. Joined company October 12, 1918. Killed 



IN THE WORLD WAR 89 



in action October 28th, northwest of Grand Pre, by bullet wounds through 
chest, during an attack on Ferme des Loges. 

Donohue, John E., No. 1749068, Private, 179 Third Street, Jersey City, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded in 
back September 19th. Returned to company March 29, 1919, from Com- 
pany "E," 53rd Engineers. 

Dreher, Walter A., No. 2821474, Corporal, 1135 Lincoln Street, Klamath Falls, 
Oregon. Enlisted May 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Eastman, Wilbert A., No. 1976313, Sergeant, Route 2, Anna, 111. Enlisted 
September 4, 1917; joined company December 10th, 1918. 

Edgerly, Robert E., No. 2816271, Private, Sauk Center, Minn. Enlisted June 
24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Effingham, Harry, No. 240969 5, Pvt. 1st Class, (Mrs. Howard Hartman, friend) 
Smithburg, R. F. D. 4, Freehold, N. J. Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined 
company same date. Killed in action September 26th, by bullets through 
body during general advance of company. 

Ellison, William J., No. 1750236, Private, (Mrs. Mary Wallenbeck, mother), 
108 West Fourth Street, Watkins, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined 
company same date. Died from wounds received in action November 4th. 

Ely, Eugene, No. 1749069. Pvt. 1st Class, North Drake Street, Titusville, Pa. 
Enlisted April 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Was slightly woundea 
in left shoulder September 2 6th. 

Emerson, William G., No. 2413210, Pvt. 1st Class, R. F. D. 4, Canton, N. Y. 
Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick 
September 9th and evacuated. Was afterwards a member of the 4th com- 
pany, 4th Army Corps Replacement Battalion. 

Ennocenti, Alfredo, No. 3751617, Pi^t. 1st Class, Box 59, Beloit, Wis. Enlisted 
July 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Erickson, Albert C, No. 3752633, Private (address unknown). Joined company 
October 12, 1918. Died from wounds November 1st received same date, 
caused by shrapnel in lefl hip and arm while in support lines behind 
Grand Pre. 

Eriandson, Gustave F., No. 3338575, Pvt. 1st Class (Oscar Erlandson, brother), 
Route 1, North Branch, Minn. Joined company October 12th. Killed in 
action November 4th, at Les Petites Armoises, by bullet wounds while in 
advance patrol of company during an attack upon enemy machine gun 
nests. 

Ertwine, Maxwell B., No. 1746060, 1st Sergeant, Ringtown, Penna. Enlisted 
June 26, 1917; joined company September 5th; appointed 1st Sergeant 
February 23, 1918; transferred to Depot Division, 1st Army Corps, 
A. E. F., July 27, 1918. 

Fahey, John F., No. 1765260, Corporal, 34 Weyand Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Fahey, Joseph H., No. 2414738, Sergeant, 42 Fulton Street, Medford. Mass. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
action September 2 6th in right foot and chest. Returned to company 
November 2 2d. Decorated for deed of bravery performed September 26th 
with both Distinguished Service Cross and Croix do Guerre. 



90 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Farry, Lester E., No. 1746072, Mechanic, (George E. Farry, father), Farming- 
dale, N. J. Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company same date. 

Severely wounded September 19 th by shrapnel in head and face while 

digging trenches, which caused his death in Evacuation Hospital No. 1 a 

few days later. 
Fay, Norman W., No. 2060023, Pvt. 1st Class, 52 North Long Avenue, Chicago, 

111. Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. Taken 

sick November 2 2d and evacuated. 
Feeney, Patrick J., No. 1748877, Pvt. 1st Class, 821 Park Avenue, Hoboken, 

N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 

wounded in right arm September 2 6th; returned to company November 2 3. 
Fellows, Elmer, No. 2941531, Private, West Frankfort, 111. Enlisted April 27. 

1918; joined company same date. 
Fergus, Morris F., No. 3 533664, Pvt. 1st Class, R. F. D. 3, Brookville, Ohio. 

Enlisted July 23, 1918; joined company December 10th. 
Ferrians, Frank, No. 2062094, Private, Sauk Center, Minn. Enlisted June 24, 

1918; joined company October 12th. 
Fielding, William H., No. 1749252, Private, 138 Manhattan Avenue, Jersey 

City, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 

wounded by shell fire in arm September 19th; rejoined company December 

15th. 
Fischer, Jacob J., No. 1765262, Pvt. 1st Class, 369 South Park Avenue, Buffalo, 

N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 
Fleischman, Gustave E., No. 2410771, Pvt. 1st Class, 1608 Park Avenue, Asbury 

Park, N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 

Accidentally received a broken leg during bayonet practice on drill ground 

in Brunembert Area June 28, 1918. Returned to America in August, 1918. 
Formes, Joseph H., No. 1749186, Private, 170 New York Avenue, Jersey City, 

N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Was slightly 

wounded underneath left eye September 26th. Returned to United States 

in January, 1919. 
Freedman, Sam, No. 1752476, Pvt. 1st Class, 305 Adams Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Was slightly wounded 

by shell fire on September 24th. 
Frey, Albert P., No. 1737302, Corporal, 566 Goodyear Avenue, Buffalo, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 
Furlong, William E., No. 2420056, Private. 454 First Street, Troy, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 5, 1918; joined company same date. Was slightly wounded 

in scalp September 26th; rejoined company January 22, 1919. 
Gaier, Julius, No. 2 41077 2, Private, 33 Montgomery Street, New York City. 

Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded 

in both feet October 2 9th. 
Gantert, Othmar, S. B., No. 2 0842 7 3, Corporal, 811 Fourteenth Avenue, North, 

Minneapolis, Minn. Enlisted June 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Geoghegan, John A., No. 24147 41, Sergeant, 17 7 Reid Street, Elizabeth, N. J. 

Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 91 



Glenn, Edward F., No. 1749253, Pvt. 1st Class, 165 North Street, Jersey City, 

N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred 

to Headquarters Company, Sllth Infantry, July 15, 1918. 
Goldberg, Israel, No. 2452893, Private, 269 South Second Street, Brooklyn, 

N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company April 16th. Slightly 

wounded by shell fire in left forearm, September 24th. 
Golling, Paul E., No. 334186 0, Private, Trochee, Alberta, Canada. Enlisted 

June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Goodman, Max, No. 4245461, Private, 3751 North Irving Street, Chicago, 111. 

Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. Taken sick 

December 21st and evacuated. 
Goodwin, Joseph F., No. 2450527, Cook, South Hampton, Long Island, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. Transferred to 1st 

Depot Division January 20, 1919, for return to United States. 
Greenberg, Joseph G., No. 2414743, Private, 408 Jefferson Avenue, Elizabeth, 

N. J.* Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. 
Gress, Edward G., No. 1737305, Private, 184 Weaver Avenue, Buffalo, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick and 

evacuated October 14th. 
Grifhn, Carl E., No. 2414744, Private, 720 Grand Street, Elizabeth, N. J. 

Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred to Graves 

Registration Service January 28, 1919. 
Haegerl, John, No. 3750635, Private, Route 1, Box 77, Butternut, Wis. En- 
listed July 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Hagedorn, Otto C, No. 3752811, Private, Route 3, Box 60, Fall Creek, Wis. 

Enlisted July 26, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Hallock, Charles F., No. 2451048, Private, Sag Harbor, N. Y. Enlisted April 

2, 1918; joined company April 16th. Slightly wounded in left ankle 

October 20th. 
Halpern, Max, No. 1748878, Privatei 924 Bloomfield Street, Hoboken, N. J. 

Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 
Hansen, Emil L., No. 3329369, Corporal, R. F. D. 4. West Allis, Wis. Enlisted 

May 28, 1918; joined company October 12th. Taken sick and evacuated 

December 21st. 
Hansenberger, John G., No. 17 50237, Pvt. 1st Class, (George Hansenberger, 

father), R. F. D. Odessa, N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company 

same date. Killed in action September 26th by shell which blew off both 

legs, during preparation for attack on enemy positions in Bois St. Claude. 
Hardies, William A., No. 2833530, Private, (Fred A. Hardies, father), 2231 

Cortez Street, Chicago, 111. Joined company October 12, 1918. Killed 

in action October 30th, in Bois d'Negremont, by shrapnel in head and 

body while in support lines behind Grand Pre. 
Harriss, Raymond L., No. 24 50329, Pvt. 1st Class, Rhinebeck, N. Y. Enlisted 

April 1, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded in left side 

of face by one pound shell, September 2 3d. 
Hauber, George, No. 1737306, Corporal, 916 Clinton Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 

hand and leg by shell fire September 19th; rejoined company November 3d. 



92 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Hayden, Alexander M., No. 1746070, Sergeant, 1129 First Avenue, Asbury 
Park, N. J. Enlisted September 4, 1917; joined company same date. 
Reported missing in action September 2 6th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, 
Germany; rejoined company January 27, 1919. Qualified for and attended 
the Inter-Allied Meet at Le Mans in April, 1919. 

Haynes, Wilfred E., No. 2411615, Sergeant, Eatontown, N. J. Enlisted Feb- 
ruary 25, 1918; joined company same date. Evacuated September 2d 
with injuries incurred on athletic field in July. 

Healey, James J., No. 2942194, Pvt. 1st Class, 116 Clinton Street, Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 

Heck, George W., No. 2414746, Corporal, 306 Court Street, Elizabeth, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
left hand September 26th. 

Heichberger, George A., No. 1737306, Pvt. 1st Class, 109 Clare Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick 
and evacuated January 3, 1919. 

Heiple, Loran L., No. 2941539, Private, DeSota, 111. Enlisted April 27, 1918; 
joined company same Sate. Slightly wounded in left thigh September 
26th; returned to United States in November. 

Heisler, Karl K., No. 1746 305. Sergeant, 7 03 Broad Street, Beverly, N. J. 
Enlisted September 18, 1917; joined company January 5, 1919. Sailed 
for overseas service with Company "I," 311th Infantry. 

Henne, Fred, No. 17 4 7 743, Pvt. 1st Class, 963 Lafayette Street, Elizabeth, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
left shoulder September 26th; rejoined company December 9th. 

Hennessey, Edward F., No. 2405759, Sergeant, Highlands, N. J. Enlisted 
February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 

Hess, John, No. 2060477, Corporal, 2860 West 22d Street, Chicago, 111. Enlisted 
December 3, 1917; joined company October 12, 1918. 

Heymer, Louis R., No. 1749254, Private, 118 Palisade Avenue, West Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. Received 
compound fracture left femur by shrapnel October 29th. 

Hill, Joseph L., No. 2420051, Sergeant, 218 West St. Louis Street, West Frank- 
fort, 111. Enlisted April 27, 1918; joined company same date. Severely 
wounded in both feet and right leg by shell fire September 2 4th. Returned 
to United States in December, 1918. 

Hillinski, Joseph, No. 2084238, Private, 300 Second Street, N. E., Minneapolis, 
Minn. Enlisted June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Hoeck, Roy L., No. 1346490, Corporal, 1635 North Crawford Avenue, Chicago, 
111. Enlisted May 2 9, 1918; joined company December 10th. 

Hogan, George A., No. 1748879, Pvt. 1st Class, 1106 Grand Street, Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. 

Holly, Harold E., No. 1748541, Pvt. 1st Class, Demarest, N. J. Enlisted April 
26, 1918; joined company same date. Was taken sick and evacuated 
October 8th; afterwards a member of M. P. company 202, at Paris. 

Hughes, Eugene P., No. 1765263, Private, 1767 Seneca Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Wounded by gas 
November 4th. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 93 



Hunterbrink, Charles A., No. 1749055, Corporal, 40 Thorne Street, Jersey City, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 

Huntley, Harry H., No. 2832015, Private, 1003 Wyman Street, Now London, 
Wis. Enlisted May 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. Was slightly 
wounded in right arm October 20th; rejoined company December 9th. 

Huston, Henry L., No. 1750238, Pvt. 1st Class, R. F. D. 1, Hector, N. Y. En- 
listed April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded 
September 2eth. 

Jacobi, William, No. 1749056, Private, 260 First Street, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enxisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded 
in left leg and right thigh September 2 6th. 

Janczjewski, Louis, No. 2833675, Private, 1115 Sixth Avenue, Milwaukee, Wis. 
Enlisted May 29, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded 
in upper arm October 20th. Returned to United States in January, 1919. 

Janicki, Alexander, No. 1737309, Private, Box 90, Grotten Street, Forks, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
left hand September 26th; rejoined company November 21st. 

Jern, Erick P., No. 3332962, Private, 373 Marion Avenue, Aurora, 111., C. B. & 
Q. R. R. office. Enlisted June 23, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Johnson, Carl E., No. 3753096, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 2, Box 109, Grand Rapids, 
Wis. Enlisted July 23, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly 
wounded by shrapnel in upper arm October 2 2d; returned to United 
States in December, 1918. 

Johnson, Charles W., No. 2941548, Private, Six Mile Run, Penna. Enlisted 
April 22, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in left arm 
September 26th. 

Johnson, Edward J., No. 1746078, Corporal, 258 West 128th Street, New York 
City. Enlisted September 22, 1917; joined company same date. Trans- 
ferred to 14th General Hospital, Bolougne, France, July 8th. 

Johnson, Lloyd F., No. 3335191, Private, Route 2, Box 68, Balabon, Minn. 
Enlisted June 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. Transferred to 
Headquarters Company, 311th Infantry, February 23, 1919. 

Johnson, Oscar E., No. 3754218, Private (address unknown). Enlisted July 
25, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded by shrapnel 
in shoulder November 4th. 

Jones, James E., No. 1746069, Corporal, 613 Fourth Avenue, Bradley Beach, 
N. J. Enlisted November 21, 1917; joined company same date. Company 
Clerk until July 21st. Fell from lorry July 21st, fracturing leg and ankle, 
and was transferred to Upper Southard Hospital, Dartford, England. Re- 
turned to United States in December, 1918. 

Josephson, Emil B., No. 3746707, Private, P. O. Box 115, Hayward, Wis. 
Enlisted July 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Kahn, Leon L., No. 3337375, Private (address unknown). Enlisted June 26, 
1918; joined company October 12th. Severely wounded in face October 
2 9th and died from wounds November 4th. Buried at Villes Daucourt. 

Kane, Albert J., No. 1748880, Pvt. 1st Class. 1029 Park Avenue, Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. 



94 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Kapacius, Ignatius S., No. 2821449, Private, 12120 Halsted Street, V/est 
Pullman, 111. Enlisted May 24, 1918; joined company October 12tli. 

Kapala, John J., No. 2084048, Mechanic, 1321 Third Street, N. E.. Minneapolis, 
Minn. Enlisted June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Karns, Jay B.. No. 1765264, Corporal, 1899 Seneca Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Kaufman, Isidore, No. 2414750, Private, 356 Linden Avenue, Elizabeth, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded by 
shrapnel in left leg September 26th. Returned to United States in 
November. 

Kazmierczak. John S., No. 2824702, Pvt. 1st Class, 400 Madison Street, Beaver 
Dam, Wis. Enlisted July 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Kelley, Leandrew T., No. 3270643, Pvt. 1st Class, Bradleyton, Alabama. En- 
listed June 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. Transferred to 78th 
Division, M. P. Company, April 8, 1919. 

Keyes, Paul, No. 17490 57, Private, 208 Harrison Street, Harrison, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 

Kilbourn, Henry, No. 1745902, Private, Jamesburg, N. J. Enlisted November 
19, 1917; joined company same date. Transferred to Headquarters Com- 
pany, 311th Infantry, September 10, 1918. 

Kilburn, Vallie J., No. 1752091, Pvt. 1st Class, Chestnut Street, Cardiff, Md. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Kindt, Edward Vv., No. 1737311, Private, (Mrs. Mary Kindt, mother), 257 
Howard Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company 
same date. Killed in action September 24, 1918, in Bois St. Claude, by 
direct hit of shell, while on outpost duty. 

Kitson, John G., No. 1749073, Private, 275 Thirteenth Street, Jersey City, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred 
to Supply Company, 311th Infantry, November 13th. 

Klosiak, Stanley F., No. 1737312, Private, 1074 Smith Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
left knee and body by shrapnel September 2 4th. Was later assigned to 
Service Battalion Army Schools, A. E. F. 

Koegel, William, No. 1749256, Private, (Miss Caroline Koegel, sister), 102 
Leonard Street, Jersey City, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined com- 
pany same date. Killed in action in Bois St. Claude, September 26, 1918. 

Koehler, Herman G., No. 3337632, Private (Mrs. Mary C. Koehler, mother). 
2418 Ninth Street, Rock Island, 111. Joined company October 12, 1918. 
Killed in action October 30th by shrapnel in back, while in support lines 
behind Grand Pre. 

Kopec, Antoni, No. 1763333, Pvt. 1st Class, 96 Lenora Street, Depew, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Koster, Theodore A., No. 3744398, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 5, Sterling, 111. 
Enlisted June 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Kreiner, George J., No. 1749191, Private, 179 Hopkins Avenue, Jersey City, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company December 9, 1918. 

Kronhelm, Joseph E., No. 2829687, Corporal, 760 First Avenue, Milwaukee, 
Wis. Enlisted May 28, 1918; joined company October 12th. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 95 



Kropidlowski, Peter W., No. 3752668, Private (John Kropidlowski, brother), 
Route 1, Box 14, Amherst Junction, Wis. Joined company October 12, 
1918. Killed in action October 20th, northwest of Grand Pre during an 
attack upon Ferme des Loges. 

Krygier, Walter, No. 1737313, Private, 188 Coit Street, Buffalo, N. Y. En- 
listed April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded over 
right eye by shrapnel September 19th. Afterwards assigned to Company 
"A," 110th Infantry. 

Kuczkowski, Alexandre, No. 1737314, Private, (Mrs. Marion Kuczkowski, 
mother), 70 Woltz Avenue, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined 
company same date. Severely wounded in right side and chest by shrapnel 
September 26th. Died in Evacuation Hospital No. 12, September 28th. 

Kuecker, Carl A., No. 2082342, Pvt. 1st Class, Brownsville, Minn. Enlisted 
June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded by 
shrapnel in left arm October 30th; rejoined company December 9th. 

Kunferman, George, No. 3752853, Pvt. 1st Class, 611 Babcock Street, Eau 
Claire, Wis. Enlisted July 26, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Lambert, John C, No. 1748887, Pvt. 1st Class, 70 Gautier Avenue, Jersey City, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2 5, 1918; joined company December 9th; sailed for 
overseas service with Company "E," 311th Infantry. 

Lammert, Will J., No. 3752450, Private, Verdi, Minn. Enlisted July 23, 1918; 
joined company October 12th. 

Lander, Irving W., No. 2451020, Private, Stone Avenue, Elmsford, N. Y. 
Enlisted March 30, 1918; joined company April 16th. Taken sick and 
evacuated October 14th. 

Lang, Joseph J., No. 2409708, Private, 27 Ward Street, Maspeth, Long Island, 
N. Y. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Missing 
in action September 2 6th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany. 
Rejoined company December 16th. 

Lange, Fred C. H., No. 1748881, Private, 744 Park Avenue, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
right leg October 29th. 

Larkin, Philip J., No. 2825537, Corporal, (address unknown). Enlisted May 
2 8, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly wounded in right arm 
November 4th. Afterwards assigned to Company "I," 320th Infantry. 

Larson, Olaf A., No. 2074383, Private, 1401 Washington Avenue, Minneapolis, 
Minn. Enlisted June 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. Slightly 
wounded in right thigh by shrapnel, October 30th; rejoined company 
January 24, 1919. 

Larson, Oscar L., No. 3333 579, Private, 2728 Longfellow Avenue, Minneapolis, 
Minn. Enlisted June 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Laurencell, Harry J., No. 1765267, Pvt. 1st Class, (Joseph Laurencell, father), 
342 South Park Avenue, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined 
company same date. Killed in action September 24th in Bois St. Claude, 

, by direct hit of shell while on outpost duty. 

LaVigne, Harry, No. 2452392, Private, 300 West 17th Street, New York City. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company April 16th. Slightly wounded in 
left leg September 26th; returned to United States in December. 



ye COMPANY B. 311TH INFANTRY, 

Lawton, John G., No. 1328335, Corporal, Garnett, Hampton County, S. C. 
Enlisted April 5, 1917; joined company December 9, 1918. Transferred 
to 30th Division (with which he went to France) March 11, 1919. 

Ledwin, Joseph, No. 1752090, Private, 64 Zittle Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted 
April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in right arm 
October 20th; rejoined company December 17th. 

L,ehy, Howard C, No. 1746071, Sergeant, (Mrs. John Lehy, mother), Oakhurst, 
N. J. Enlisted September 4, 1917; joined company same date. Killed in 
action by shrapnel October 17, 1918, at La Folie Ferme. 

Leitzke, Edward A., No. 3750112, Private, (William F. Leitzke, father). Route 

1, Box 37, Burnett Junction, Wis. Enlisted July 24, 1918; joined com- 
pany October 12th; wounded in stomach and left arm by shrapnel October 
31st, while in support lines behind Grand Pre; died in Mobile Hospital No. 

2, same date. 

Lent, Arnold W., No. 3338546, Private, Stacy, Minn. Enlisted June 24, 1918; 
joined company October 12th; severely wounded by shrapnel in left 
wri^t October 31st. 

Leonard, Cyril T., No. 2414752, Private, 34 Sayre Street, Elizabeth, N. J. En- 
listed April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Taken sick due to 
exposure in Limey Sector and evacuated October 13th; returned to United 
States in December. 

Letmolee, Kittel N., No. 2081589, Pvt. 1st Class, Perley, Minn. Enlisted June 
24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Levy, Joseph, No. 1746080, Supply Sergeant, Freehold, N. J. Enlisted Nov- 
ember 12, 1917; joined company same date. Appointed Supply Sergeant 
April 12, 1918; transferred to Army Candidate School October 10th; 
rejoined company December 10th; transferred to 1st Replacement Depot, 
St. Aignan, for immediate discharge April 8, 1919. Mentioned In 78th 
Division General Orders No 6 for bravery on September 2 6th. 

Limbert, William D., No. 1755647, Private, (address unknown). Enlisted Sept- 
ember 7, 1917; joined company August 16, 1918; wounded by gas burns 
October 22d. 

Lineski, John A., No. 2084164, Private, 1601 California Street, N. E., Minne- 
apolis, Minn. Enlisted June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Lipowsky, Julius, No. 4566070, Private, 43 Rutgels Street, New York City. 
Enlisted August 27, 1918; joined company December 10th. 

Long, William G., No. 1737317, Corporal, 668 North Division Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. 

Lotesto, Rocco, No. 2822865, Private, 523 West 80th Street, Chicago, 111. 
Enlisted May 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Lueders, Emil A., No. 2829483, Pvt. 1st Class, (address unknown). Joined 
company October 12th. Taken sick and evacuated October 20th. 

Lush, Adam J., No. 17 4907 5, Private, 145 Eighth Street, Jersey City, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Reported missing in 
action September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; rejoined 
company January 7, 1919; transferred to Headquarters Company, 311th 
Infantry, March 8 th. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 97 



Lusier, Albert J., No. 2409712, Cook, 228 West Hazard Street, Philadelphia, 
Penna. Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company same date. 

Lykes, James H., No. 2409711, Pvt. 1st Class (Mrs. Catherine Lykes, mother), 
30 Bowne Avenue, Freehold, N. J. Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined 
company same date. Killed in action September 2 6th, by bullet through 
body during general advance of company. 

McAslan, Walter W., No. 2450787, Pvt. 1st Class, 407 Second Street, Greenport, 
Long Island, N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company April 16th; 
severely wounded in right shoulder and left hip September 2 6th; rejoined 
company November 21st. 

McCarthy, Frederick H., No. 2411625, Pvt. 1st Class, 180 Brighton Avenue, 
Long Branch, N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same 
date; transferred to Headquarters Company, 311th Infantry June 28th. 

McCumber, Norman, No. 1751361, Private, 482 William Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded in 
right arm September 26th. 

McDonald, William, No. 2061019, Private, Curtis, Nebraska. Enlisted Decem- 
ber 7, 1917; joined company October 12, 1918. 

McGarrity, Joseph R., No. 2411623, Corporal, 142 Bridge Avenue, Red Bank, 
N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Severely 
wounded in left elbow September 26, 1918. Mentioned in 78th Division 
General Orders No. 6, for bravery in action on September 24th. 

McGuire, James P., No. 2407801, Private, (address unknown). Enlisted 
February 25, 1918; joined company August 16th. Slightly wounded by 
shrapnel November 4th. 

McMahon, James C, No. 1749077, Private, 178 Eighteenth Street, Jersey City, 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 
wounded in left foot September 25th. 

McMahon, William C, No. 1765269, Pvt. 1st Class, 48 Walter Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Mackley, James E., No. 2452441, Private, 117 West South Street, Frederick 
City, Md. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company same date. Severely 
wounded in right lower leg September 26th. 

Madsen, Christ, No. 3335322, Pvt. 1st Class, 718 West Hickory Street, Still- 
water, Minn. Enlisted June 25, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Magaski, William P., No. 3340770, Private, 2511 West Walton Street, Chicago, 
111. Enlisted June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. Accidentally 
wounded in shoulder October 22d; rejoined company November 17th. 

Makowiecki, Boleslaw, No. 1747860, Private, (Mrs. Jadwiga Makowiecki, wife), 
205 Weimar Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined com- 
pany same date. Killed in action September 26th by shrapnel in body and 
head during general advance of company in Limey Sector. 

Malone, Edward M., No. 2414753, Pvt. 1st Class, 1019 Olive Street, Elizabeth, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Severely 
wounded in back September 26th; rejoined company December 9th; again 
evacuated on account of old wound December 16th. 

Mandinach, Oscar, No. 4566060, Pvt. 1st Class, 556 East 105th Street, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. 



98 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Marcinkiewicz, Frank J., No. 2833843, Corporal, 1326 Fourth Avenue, Milwau- 
kee, Wis. Enlisted May 2 9, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Martin, Charles H., No. 2085824, Corporal, 3258 North California Avenue, 
Chicago, 111. Enlisted February 2 7, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Martocci, Salvatore, No. 2670129, Corporal, 160 West 100th Street, New York 
City. Enlisted April 4, 1918; joined company April 16th. 

Maske, Louis A., No. 1760024, Private, (Louis Maske, father), 82 Baumann 
Street, Rochester, N. Y. Joined company August 16, 1918; severely 
wounded by shrapnel in right thigh September 2 6th; died while on way 
to hospital. 

Meister, John C, No. 1748543, Pvt. 1st Class, Washington Street, Dumont,. 
N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 

Meltzer, Sam M., No. 4 56 6 099, Private, 2 41 Madison Street, New York City- 
Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Mergan, Lewis W., No. 3746816, Private, 1610 Ohio Avenue, Superior, Wis. 
Enlisted July 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Mero, John, No. 2414755, Private, 44 James Place, Staten Island, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date; slightly wounded in 
right leg September 26th. 

Miller, Michael J., No. 1737318, Corporal, 441 Emslie Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Morath, Paul, No. 1760050, Private, (address unknown). Joined company 
August 16th. Severely wounded in left leg September 26th; died of 
wounds (date unknown). 

Morelli, Angelo, No. 2411627, Pvt. 1st Class, 215 Jane Street, Long Branch, 
N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 

Moroshick, Max, No. 4566061, Private, 488 Hinsdale Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Morris, L. P. Morton, No. 2410780, Corporal, 128 Heck Avenue, Ocean Grove. 
N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 
wounded in left foot September 2 6th. Returned to United States in 
February, 1919. 

Morrison, John W., No. 3747447, Private, Route 20, Winneconne, Wis. Enlisted 
July 22, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Mouser, Charles J., No. 2411111, Pvt. 1st Class, Lincroft, N. J. Enlisted 
February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Reported missing in 
action September 2 6th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; rejoined 
company January 2 5, 1919. 

Murphy, Thomas J., No. 1764987, Private, 295 Bailey Avenue, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Evacuated to hospital 
in September, 1918. 

Murphy, Robert A., No. 2827853, Private, (address unknown). Enlisted May 
27, 1918; joined company October 12th. Taken sick and evacuated 
November 1st. 

Nelson, Carl E., No. 2084434, Pvt. 1st Class, 1422 James Avenue, North, Minne- 
apolis, Minn. Enlisted June 22, 1918; joined company October 12th; 
wounded (degree undetermined) in right elbow and forearm October 20th; 
rejoined company December 3d. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 99 



Nelson, Otto, No. 3339872, Private, Route 1, Box 65, Stanchfield, Minn. 
Enlisted June 28, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Ness, Sander O., No. 3340000, Private, (address unknown). Enlisted June 27, 
1918; joined company October 12th. Evacuated to hospital sick Nov- 
ember 1st. 

Neuffer, Rinehart J., No. 1737319, Private, 50 Wagner Place, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded in 
left leg and thigh September 26th. 

Newell, Clendenon S., No. 1748544, Sergeant, (Mrs. Leona D. Newell, mother), 
165 Leonia Street, Leonia, N. J. Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company 
same date. Killed in action October 20th by shrapnel through head from 
shell which struck a nearby tree and exploded, killing him while lying in 
his tent, while in support lines behind Grand Pre. 

Newell, James McC, No. 1773758, Sergeant (Officer Candidate), (James W. 
McConnell, Uncle), 800 Russell Street, Nashville, Tenn. Enlisted May 5, 
1917; joined company October 27th; appointed 2nd Lieutenant effective 
June 1, 1918, and attached to Company "G," 311th Infantry, July 15th; 
killed in action October 16, 1918. 

North, Harry E., No. 3534857, Private, 1325 West 117th Street, Cleveland. 
Ohio. Enlisted July 25, 1918; joined company December 9th. Evacuated 
to hospital December 21st. 

Norton, William H., No. 2414757, Sergeant, 1089 Magnolia Avenue, Elizabeth, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Transferred to 
1st Replacement Depot, St. Aignan, for immediate discharge February 13, 
1919. 

O'Connell, James M., No. 2450203, Pvt. 1st Class, 2070 Eastern Parkway, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company April 16th; 
reported missing in action September 26th; was prisoner at Camp 
Rastatt, Germany; rejoined company December 15th. 

O'Gara, John J., No. 1749059, Pvt. 1st Class, 72 Garden Street, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enlisted April 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Reported wounded 
September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; rejoined com- 
pany December 15th. 

O'Hara, William F., No. 2414066, Private, 267 Pearl Street, Burlington, N. J. 
Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company July 15th. Killed in action Sept- 
ember 19th by shrapnel through head, while digging trenches — the first 
death casualty in company. 

O'Neill, William E., No. 1749060, Private, 222 Willow Avenue, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enlisted April 25, 1918; joined company same date. 

O'Reilly, John J., No. 2942195, Pvt. 1st Class, 1036 Willow Avenue, Hoboken, 
N. J. Enlisted April 25, 1918; joined company same date. Wounded by 
gas burns October 30th; returned to United States in January, 1919. 

O'Rourke, Bernard J., No. 1764989, Private, 78 Eleventh Avenue, New York 
City. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly 
wounded in heel September 19th. 

Ohm, Carl L., No. 3341710, Private, Box 6, Osco, 111. Enlisted July 10, 1918; 
joined company October 12th. 



100 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Osterweis, Dayton, No. 2411112, Sergeant, Hotel Endicott, New York City. 
Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 

Ovrid, Imbert A., No. 3758119, Private, Caperon, 111. Enlisted August 3, 1918; 
joined company October 12th; reported missing in action October 2 0th; 
was wounded by piece of rock being thrown against his knee by an 
exploding shell same date; rejoined company December 21st. 

Pankow, Arthur F. W., No. 3747293, Bugler, R. F. D. 6, Box 36, Merrill, Wis. 
Enlisted July 2 3, 1918; joined company October 12th. Evacuated to 
hospital April 2 4th. 

Perry, George H., No. 1746063, 1st Sergeant, 75 Heck Avenue, Ocean Grove, 
N. J. Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company sam.e date; trans- 
ferred to Depot Division 1st Army Corps, A. E. F., July 2 7th; rejoined 
company October 9th; appointed 1st Sergeant October 10th; evacuated to 
hospital October 26th; rejoined company December 27th; transferred to 
1st Depot Division January 20, 1919. 

Peter, Charles, No. 1749195, Supply Sergeant, 208 Sherman Avenue, Jersey 
City, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date; appointed 
Supply Sergeant November, 1918. 

Peterson, Elmer J., No. 3334575, Private, Route 1, Box 9, LeRoy, Minn. 
Enlisted June 2 5, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Peterson, Lawrence R., No. 1737320, Private, 54 Alma Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Admitted to 14th 
General Hospital July 11th; rejoined company November 1st. 

Peterson, Theodore A., No. 1746062, Sergeant, Manasquan, N. J. Enlisted 
September 21, 1917; joined company same date; went on detached service 
with Division Headquarters June 26; dropped from rolls in January, 1919. 

Pettys, Levi M., No. 1752088, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 5, Cuba, N. Y. Enlisted 
April 3, 1918; joined com.pany same date; transferred to 153rd Field 
Artillery Brigade July 15th. 

Picciano, Michael, No. 1748 54 5, Private, Maple Avenue, Dumont, N. J. En- 
listed April 26, 1918; joined company same date; reported missing in 
action September 2 6th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; returned 
to United States in January 1919. 

Pilarski, Walter E., No. 1737322, Pvt. 1st Class, 77 Townsend Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date; severely 
wounded in left apex lung September 2 6th. 

Pitarro, Frank, No. 2411636, Pvt. 1st Class, 216 West Front Street, Red Bank, 
N. J. Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company same date; reported 
missing in action September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Ger- 
many; rejoined company January 7, 1919. 

Pitzrick, William G., No. 3752487, Pvt. 1st Class, Barron, Wis. Enlisted July 
23, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Price, Lory L., No. 2941581, Pvt. 1st Class, R. F. D. 6, Marion, 111. Enlisted 
April 27, 1918; joined company same date; reported missing in action 
September 26; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; rejoined company 
January 7, 1919; mentioned in 7 8th Division General Orders No. 6 for 
bravery in action September 2 6, 1918. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 101 



Przyczkowski, Joseph J., No. 2833893, Private, 1041 First Avenue, Milwaukee, 

Wis. Enlisted May 29, 1918; joined company October 12th; wounded in 

left leg (degree undetermined) October 20th; rejoined company December 

12th; taken sick and evacuated to hospital December 2 8th. 
Pushner, Jacob, No. 2954387, Private, 75 Bay Street, Brockton, Mass. Enlisted 

June 26, 1918; joined company December 9th. 
Ranalletta, Achille, No. 3678854, Private, 531 State Street, Rochester, N. Y. 

Enlisted July 22, 1918; joined company December 9th. 
Rasmusson, Leslie L., No. 2832009, Corporal, R. F. D. 2, Belmont, Wis. 

Enlisted May 2 5, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Ratkiewcus, John, No. 2828386, Private, 2929 West 40th Street, Chicago, 111. 

Enlisted May 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Reed, Thomas P., No. 2 66 9133, Private, 80 Ravine Avenue, Yonkers, N. Y. 

Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. 
Reid, William M., No. 1746064, Sergeant, 114 West 39th Street, New York City. 

Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company same date; transferred to 

Army Candidate Schpol September 28 th. Mentioned in 78 th Division 

General Orders No. 6 for bravery in action September 2 6th. 
Renski, John J., No. 1737324, Private, 140 Colt Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted 

April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded in right 

shoulder and neck September 26th. 
Richman, Fred, No. 4566016, Private, 8 Vernon Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. 
Richter, Otto R., No. 2410784, Corporal, Lewis Street, Oakhurst, N. J. 

Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company same date; served with 

Regimental Supply Company during campaign. 
Riedel, George I., No. 3747108, Pvt. 1st Class, Mosinee, Wis. Enlisted July 23, 

1918; joined company October 12th. 
Riess, Eugene, No. 24 50873, Private, 141 West Sidney Avenue, Mt. Vernon, 

N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th. 
Riskey, John F., No. 3340152, Private, 924 Farrington Avenue, St. Paul, Minn. 

Enlisted June 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Robbins, Charles A., No. 1746061, 1st Sergeant, 150 Summit Street, South 

Manchester, Conn. Enlisted July 3, 1917; joined company September 7th; 

appointed 1st Sergeant August 1, 1918; slightly wounded by shrapnel in 

left leg Ssptember 26th; rejoined company December 17th; transferred to 

1st Replacement Depot January 20, 1919; returned to United States in 

March 1919. Decorated with Distinguished Service Cross for bravery in 

action September 2 6, 1918. 
Rogers, George H., No. 1746067, Sergeant, Keyport, N. J. Enlisted September 

22, 1917; joined company same date. Gassed September 19, 1918; 

rejoined company November 15th. 
Ryan. William H., No. 2413606, Pvt. 1st Class, 157 Chestnut Street, Red Bank, 

N. J. Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company same date; reported 

missing in action September 26; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; 

rejoined company January 7, 1919. 
Sanders, Will., No. 3662370, Private, Mott, Texas. Enlisted August 8, 1918; 

joined company December 9th. 



102 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Sapienza, Sabastiano, No. 2830845, Private, 2910 Wentworth Avenue, Chicago, 
111. Enlisted May 2 5, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Sasso, Aniello, No. 2410785, Private, 110 Aitkens Avenue, Asbury Park, N. J. 
Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Slightly wounded 
in thumb November 4th; rejoined company January 15, 1919. 

Sawyer, Elv/ood L., No. 1751858, Sergeant, 413 Morgan Avenue, Palmyra, N. J. 
Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company November 13th. Sailed for over- 
seas service with Supply Company 311th Infantry. Transferred to that 
company March 13, 1919. 

Schelter, John D., No. 1749263, Sergeant, (Mrs. Madeline Schelter, wife), 213 
Terrace Avenue, Jersey City, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined com- 
pany same date. Killed in action by shrapnel September 26th while on 
outpost duty. 

Schiefer, Jacob, No. 17 649 91, Private, 9 3 Kilburn Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. Reported missing in 
action September 2 6th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; returned 
to United States in January 1919. 

Schmid, Alfred, No. 4 5618 96, Corporal, 7 56 Cauldwell Avenue, Bronx, New 
York. Enlisted August 26, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Schmidt, Jack, No. 2828065, Corporal, 7871/2 Fifteenth Street, Milwaukee, Wis. 
Enlisted May 27, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Schmidt, Walter J., No. 1976622, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 1, Binkmille, 111. 
Enlisted September 17, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Schreiner, George, No. 2832956, Pvt. 1st Class (Mrs. Frances Schreiner, 
mother), 332 Seventeenth Avenue, Milwaukee, Wis. Joined company 
October 12, 1918; killed in action October 2 0th northwest of Grand Pre, 
during an attack on Ferme des Loges. 

Schultz, Martin L., No. 2083969, Pvt. 1st Class, 1516 Grand Street, N. E., 
Minneapolis, Minn. Enlisted June 2 4, 1918; joined company December 9. 

Schultz, Walter, No. 1737326, Pvt. 1st Class, (Mrs. Mary Schultz, mother), 223 
Metcalf Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company 
same date. Killed in action September 26th by machine gun bullets whi^e 
resisting an enemy counter-attack. 

Schwenk, Michael A., No. 1737327, Private, 1012 Smith Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Sciancalepore, Louis, No. 17 49 063, Private, 22 9 Clinton Street, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date. 

Scory, John, No. 2481989, Mechanic, Box 94, Lansing, Ohio. Enlisted June 
24, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Sculthorp, Warren D., No. 1746059, Mess Sergeant, 165 Riddle Avenue, Long 
Branch, N. J. Enlisted September 5, 1917; joined company same date; 
appointed Mess Sergeant October 1st; transferred to II Army Corps in 
August, 1918. 

Sculthorpe, Harold, No. 174607 5, Cook, 2 5 Main Street, Asbury Park, N. J. 
Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company same date; burned by 
mustard gas October 30, 1918; rejoined company December 10th. 

Sheridan, Edward J., No. 1745938, Private, Ocean Avenue, Sea Bright, N. J. 
Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company same date but was after- 



IN THE WORLD WAR 103 



wards transferred to Headquarters Company, same Regiment; rejoined 
company January 12, 1919. 

Siieridan, Leon J., No. 4563935, Private, 98 East Court Street, Cortland, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company December 9th; transferred to 
Graves Registration Service January 28, 1919. 

Shipman, Maurice, No. 3661183, Pvt. 1st Class, Route 6, Honey Grove, Texas. 
Enlisted August 5, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Siems, Walter, No. 2833423, Pvt. 1st Class (address unknown). Joined com- 
pany October 12, 1918; severely wounded by shrapnel in right side of 
head and back November 4th. 

Skillen, Edmund S., No. 1747131, Corporal, 155 Madison Avenue, Elizabeth, 
N. J. Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date; slightly wounded 
in left leg September 2 6th; returned to United States in December, 1918. 

Slover, Luke E., Jr., No. 2411118, Pvt. 1st Class, (Mrs. Eva Smith, friend), 
xMain Street, Keansburg N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company 
same date. Killed in action in Limey Sector September 2 6th, by shrapnel, 
while carrying messages for company headquarters. Awarded Distinguished 
Service Cross for bravery in action September 2 6th. 

Smith, James E., No. 1738837, Private, 1146 Pierce Avenue, Niagara Falls, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company August 16th; evacuated 
to hospital September 2d; rejoined company December 17th; evacuated 
to hospital December 28th. 

Smogola, Anton F., No. 28 33924, Private, 1039 Third Avenue, Milwaukee, Wis. 
Enlisted May 29, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Sobol, Jacob I., No. 4561914, Private, 877 East 105th Street, Bronx, New York. 
Enlisted August 26, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Sokoloski, Martin J., No. 3330105, Corporal, 1016 West Denham Street, South 
Bend, Ind. Enlisted June 19, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Soldn'er, Raymond A., No. 1978502, Pvt. 1st Class, Kinmundy, 111. Enlisted 
October 2, 1917; joined company December 9, 1918. 

Spensberger, John, No. 3306369, Pvt. 1st Class, 119 East 13th Street, Pitts- 
burgh, Kansas. Enlisted June 23, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Stankiewicz, John, No. 2086296, Pvt. 1st Class, 8 57 North May Street, Chicago, 
111. Enlisted February 26, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Stiles, Bert W., No. 2414760, Sergeant, 511 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. Appointed Company 
Clerk July 21st. 

Storck, William H., No. 2932855, Private, Fiat, Ohio. Enlisted June 27, 1918; 
joined company December 9th. 

String^eld, Jasper, No. 3498489, Private, R. F. D. 1, Wheat, Tenn. Enlisted 
June 27, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Stuhser, Frank H., No. 3347505, Private, (Peter Stuhser, father), 728 Second 
Street, Manasha, Wis. Joined company October 12, 1918. Killed in action 
October 30th by shrapnel while in support lines behind Grand Pre. 

Sullivan, John L., No. 1764992, Pvt. 1st Class (Mrs. Martin Kelly, aunt), 141 
Babcock Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company 
same date; killed in action November 4th, at Les Petites Armoises, by 
machine gun bullets, during an attack upon enemy machine gun nests. 



104 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

Sullivan, William, No. 37 51681, Private, 314 von Minden Street, St. Paul, Minn. 
Enlisted July 25, 1918; joined company October 12th; transferred to 
Graves Registration Service January 2 8, 1919. 

Sutton, Lewis Z., No. 1745988, Corporal, 324 West Main Street, Moorestown. 
N. J. Enlisted September 18, 1917; joined company May 3, 1918; re- 
ported missing in action September 2 6th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, 
Germany; rejoined company January 7, 1919. 

Suwalski, Jan, No. 1737331, Pvt. 1st Class, 102 Montgomery Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Sweeney, Hugh J., No. 1746066, Sergeant, (William Sweeney, father), 123 
West Main Street, Moorestown, N. J. Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined 
company same date. Slightly wounded in foot by ricochet bullet Sept- 
ember 2 6, 1918, but nothing further was heard from him. 

Switalski, Ignatz W., No. 3329487, Private, Cudahy, Wis. Enlisted May 28, 
1918; joined company October 12th; slightly wounded in left hip October 
2 5th; rejoined company December 4th. 

Szymczak, John, No. 1737332, Private, 911 Smith Street, Buffalo, N. Y. En- 
listed April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Tannenbaum, David, No. 4 56 608 4, Private, 5 5 East Second Street, New York 
City. Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Taras, Sebastiano, No. 1748548, Private (John Taras, brother), 128 Central 
Avenue, Leonia, N. J. Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same 
date. Wounded in action September 26th (degree undetermined); re- 
ported died of v.'ounds (date and place unknown). 

Tarlack, Bernard, No. 2060527, Private, 3128 Lincoln Avenue, Chicago, 111. 
Enlisted September 19, 1917; joined company October 12, 1918. 

Tatoian, John C, No. 3329255, Corporal, 11700 Lowe Avenue, West Pullman, 
111. Enlisted May 3, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Tauber, Gustave, No. 2 67 00 74, Private, 2 5 McKibben Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 4, 1918; joined company April 16th; reported missing in 
action September 2Gth; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; rejoined 
company January 7, 1919. 

Thompson, George M., No. 1746073, Mechanic, 210 Academy Street, Trenton, 
N. J. Enlisted September 8, 1918; joined company same date; reported 
missing in action September 2 6, 1918; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, 
Germany; rejoined company January 7, 1919. 

Tietze, John F., No. 4 561770, Private, 175 Park Avenue, Corning, N. Y. En- 
listed August 26, 1918; joined company December 9th; transferred to 
Graves Registration Service January 28, 1919. 

Tuthill, George L., No. 2450789, Mechanic, (Mrs. E. W. Tuthill, mother), 
Jamesport, New York. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 
16th; wounded in right arm October 20th; died of Hypostatic Pneumonia 
February 25, 1919, at Base Hospital No. 77, caused by wounds; buried in 
grave number 363, American Burial Plot, assigned, Beaune, Cote d'or, 
France. 

Ullrich, Lewis W., No. 2061989, Private, 3711 North Troy Street, Chicago, 111. 
Enlisted March 12, 1918; joined company October 12th. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 10 5 



Vafiadis, William K., No. 2412153, Private, 182 Broadway, Long Branch, N. J. 

Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Severely wounded 

in right shoulder and face September 2 6th. 
Venche, Tony, No. 2411124, Pvt. 1st Class, Matawan, N. J. Enlisted February 

2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 
Vermette, Gilbert W., No. 4 563913, Private, R. F. D. 2, Malone, N. Y. Enlisted 

August 2 6, 1918; joined company December 9th. 
Vieths, Friedrich G., No. 2082894, Corporal, Box "F," Goodhue, Minn. Enlisted 

June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th; transferred to 1st Replace- 
ment Depot, St. Aignan, April 6, 1919, for immediate discharge. 
Vorta, Nicholas, No. 2450906, Private, (Mrs. Agnes Vorta, mother), 1444 

Edwards Avenue, Bronx, Westchester County, N. Y. Enlisted April 1, 

1918; joined company April 16th; slightly wounded in scalp September 

20th, received 1st Aid and returned to duty same date; killed in action 

September 26th by pistol bullet in head, shot by German officer, during 

general advance of company. 
Vrieze, Reuben, No. 2080897, Private, Route 1, Lime Spring, Iowa. Enlisted 

June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 
Viscuso, Frank, No. 1749080, Private, 641 Grove Street, Jersey City, N. J. 

Enlisted April 2 6, 1918; joined company same date. 
Wallace, Walter R., No. 3659523, Private, Carlsbad, New Mexico. Enlisted 

August 5, 1918; joined company December 9th. 
Wandry, Carl, No. 3347495, Mechanic (address unknown). Enlisted July 22, 

1918; joined company October 12th; slightly wounded in right leg 

October 30th. 
Warner, Theodore H., No. 2450897, Private, c/o Mrs. T. W. Sadlier (sister), 

Quoque, New York. Enlisted April 1, 1918; joined company April 16th; 

reported missing in action September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, 

Germany; rejoined company January 16, 1919. 
Webb, William, No. 2409728, Pvt. 1st Class, 170 Jefferson Street, Trenton, 

N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date; slightly 

wounded in right hand September 26th. 
Weber, Benjamin, No. 1746086, Mess Sergeant, 355 Joline Avenue, Long 

Branch, N. J. Enlisted November 19, 1917; joined company same date; 

with sergeant Welsh captured the first prisoner taken by the company; 

appointed Mess Sergeant November 10th. 
Weidman, John C, No. 1737335, Corporal, (Mrs. Justina Weidman, mother), 

364 Watson Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company 

same date; killed in action September 2 4th by direct hit from shell while 

on outpost duty. 
Weinstein, Nathan, No. 4561941, Private, 603 Prospect Avenue, Bronx, N. Y. 

Enlisted August 26, 1918; joined company December 9th. 
Wekony, Julius, No. 2059420, Cook, 4907 West Eddy Street, Chicago, 111. 

Enlisted October 4, 1917; joined regiment October 12, 1918; joined com- 
pany November 23d. 
Welsh, Edward J., No. 2409727, Sergeant, c/o Margaret Eisenberg (sister), 
i719 Carlton Street, Philadelphia, Pa. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; 

joined company same date; with sergeant Weber captured the first prisoner 



106 COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 

taken by the company; severely wounded by seven machine gun bullets in 
right wrist and both arms October 2 0th; cited for bravery in Limey Sector; 
decorated with Distinguished Service Cross for bravery in Meuse-Argonne 
light. 

Westlund, Gust V., No. 2074345, Pvt. 1st Class, 229 Twentieth Avenue, South, 
Minneapolis, Minn. Enlisted June 24, 1918; joined company October 12th. 

Wheeler, Raymerd, No. 2932858, Pvt. 1st Class, Peoli, Ohio. Enlisted June 
27, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

White, Henry R., No. 1746087, Bugler, Center Street, Sea Bright, N. J. Enlisted 
September 21, 1917; joined company same date; slightly wounded Septem- 
ber 2 6th; returned to United States in December. 

White, Thomas A., No. 1764994, Corporal, 291 Babcock Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 
Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

White, Tracy S., No. 2410793, 1st Sergeant, 1215 L Street, Belmar, N. J. 
Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. Appointed 1st 
Sergeant November 10th; decorated with Distinguished Service Cross for 
bravery in Meuse-Argonne battles. 

Willett, Cornelius V. S., No. 2411126, Mechanic, Port Monmouth, N. J. En- 
listed February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date; slightly wounded 
October 2 0th. 

Williams, Claude L., No. 1750243, Corporal, R. F. D. 1, Hector, N. Y. Enlisted 
April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 

Williams, John, No. 1749065, Corporal, 116 Bloomfield Street, Hoboken, N. J. 
Enlisted April 26, 1918; joined company same date; slightly wounded 
in left hip September 26th. 

Willmore, Herbert McK., No. 2941605, Pvt. 1st Class, R. F. D. 3, West Frank- 
fort, 111. Enlisted April 2 7, 1918; joined company same date. 

Wilson, Carol, No. 2413196, Sergeant, New Street, Sea Bright, N. J. Enlisted 
February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date; Mess Sergeant from July 
21st to October 20th, at which time he was transferred to Army Candidate 
School; rejoined company December 17th; transferred to Headquarters 
Company, 311th Infantry, and appointed Regimental Color Sergeant, 
February 3, 1919. 

Winemiller, Robert B., No. 1746088, Bugler, 320 Tuttle Avenue, Spring Lake, 
N. J. Enlisted September 21, 1917; joined company same date; slightly 
wounded in left hand September 26; rejoined company December 1st. 

Wise, Henry B., No. 2670038, Pvt. 1st Class, 215 West 101st Street, New York 
City. Enlisted April 4, 1918; joined company same date. 

Wolcott, George T., No. 2411649, Corporal, (Mrs. Harriet Wolcott, wife), 214 
Newark Avenue, Bloomfield, N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined 
company same date; killed in action September 26th by machine gun 
bullet while rushing an enemy machine gun. 

Wolff, George C, No. 3454499, Pvt. 1st Class, 1808 Emma Street, Menominee, 
Mich. Enlisted July 14, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Wolfskeil, John E., No. 2414764, Corporal, 318 Linden Street, Elizabeth. N. J. 
Enlisted April 2, 1918; joined company same date. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 107 



Wolley, Harry T., No. 2410794, Corporal, 132 Main Avenue, Ocean Grove, N. J. 
Enlisted February 25, 1918; joined company same date; slightly wounded 
in right hand September 2 6th; returned to United States in February 1919. 

Wolotkin, Benjamin, No. 4566100, Private, 24 Cannon Street, New York City. 
Enlisted August 28, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Woolley, Francis P., No. 2411651, Corporal, 388 Columbus Place, Long Branch, 
N. J. Enlisted February 2 5, 1918; joined company same date. 

Woolley, James B., No. 2409730, Corporal, Farmingdale, N. J. Enlisted Febru- 
ary 2 5, 1918; joined company, same date; reported missing in action Sept- 
ember 26th; was wounded and evacuated to hospital same date; rejoined 
company December 9th. 

Worsfold, Albert J., No. 3335949, Private (Mrs. Hannah Worsfold, mother). 
Stark, ni. Enlisted June 25, 1918; joined company October 12th; killed 
in action November 4th near Les Petites Armoises. 

Zalace, Dan C. Z., No. 3656966, Private, Eaton, Colorado. Enlisted June 24, 
1918; joined company December 9th. 

Zanni, Michael, No. 2450800, Private, (Raffaeli Santone, friend), Ardsley. N. Y. 
Enlisted March 30, 1918; joined company April 16th; killed in action by 
sniper's bullet through head, September 2 6th. 

Zenzian, Kajetan, No. 2422045, Private, 437 Fourteenth Street, West New York, 
N. J. Enlisted May 29, 1918; joined company December 9th. 

Ziefski, Frank, No. 1764997, Private, 22 4 Winona Street, Buffalo, N. Y. En- 
listed April 3, 1918; joined company same date; reported missing in 
action September 26th; was prisoner at Camp Rastatt, Germany; rejoined 
company January 7, 1919. 

Zwolinkiewicz, Frank, No. 1737337, Corporal, 132 Detroit Street, Buffalo, 
N. Y. Enlisted April 3, 1918; joined company same date. 



ROSTER OF THE ( OMPANY 



When Sailiiia, Overseas 

Replacements from 86th Division 

Replacements from other Units of the 311th Infantry 

All other Replacements 



WHEN SAILING OVERSEAS 



1st Sergeant 
Maxwell B. Ertwine 

Mess Sergeant 
Warren D. Sculthorp 

Supply Sergeant 
Joseph Levy 

Sergeants 
James McC. Newell 
Charles A. Robbins 
Theodore A. Peterson 
George H. Perry 
William M. Reid 
Peyton R. Anness 
Hugh J. Sweeney 
George H. Rogers 
Alexander M. Hayden 
Howard C. Lehy 
Wilfred E. Haynes 
Carol Wilson 

Corporals 
James E. Jones 
Edward J. Johnson 
Robert B. Winemiller 
Harry T. Wolley 
Edward F. Hennessey 
John A. Geoghegan 
Walter DeGrote 
Joseph H. Fahey 
George T. Wolcott 
Francis P. Woolley 
Bert W. Stiles 
Joseph Apicelli 
Frank Zwolinkiewicz 
Joseph R. McGarrity 
L. P. Morton Morris 
Tracy S. White 
Dayton Osterweis 
Walter J. Ahearn 
John C. Weidman 

Mechanics 
Lester E. Farry 
George M. Thompson 
George L. Tuthill 
Cornelius V. S. Willett 



Cooks 
Harold Sculthorpe 
Walter deBruin 
Albert J. Lusier 
Joseph J. Lang 

Buglers 
Henry R. White 
James H. Lykes 

Privates 1st Class 
William B. Ackermau 
Joseph S. Aldridge 
Earl Barnes 
John M. Benzing 
William G. Butier 
Dominick Calabrese 
William J. Campbell 
Samuel E. Chiaradio 
Herbert M. P. Cocker 
Lawrence M. Croft 
Albert Deile. Jr. 
Thomas E. Devine 
Eugene Ely 
William G. Emerson 
John F. Fahey 
Gustave E. Fleischman 
Sam Freedman 
John G. Hansenberger 
Raymond L. Harriss 
George W. Heck 
George A. Heichberger 
George A. Hogan 
Henry L. Huston 
Isidore Kaufman 
Vallie J. Kilburn 
Harry J. Laurencell 
Frederick H. McCarthy 
Edward M. Malone 
Charles J. Mouser 
Clendenon S. Newell 
Bernard J. O'Rourke 
Charles Peter 
Levi M. Pettys 
Walter E. Pilarski 
William H. Ryan 
John D. Schelter 



Walter Schuliz 
Edmund S. Skillen 
Luke E. Slover, Jr. 
Lewis Z. Sutton 
Tony Venche 
Theodore H. Warner 
William M. Webb 
Benjamin Weber 
Edward J. Welsh 
Thomas A. White 
John E. Wolfskeil 
James B. Woolley 

Privates 
William Y. Ackerman 
Walter G. Amann 
George J. Anderson 
Stanislaw Andrzejewski 
William A. Angevine 
Aldo Annibalinl 
Carmine Arcuri 
Carmelo Baiano 
Walter V. Ball 
William Baumann 
Mervin Bement 
John Bernhard 
Barnett Bernstein 
Harry C. Best 
William Birk 
Joseph Bishop 
James Blair 
George L. Blount 
William D. Bogart 
John F. Byreiter 
Stanley F. Bogucki 
Joseph A. Boucher 
Edward H. Boyle 
Bertrand G. Brooks 
Louis Buechler 
Harold E. Burchell 
John F. Burke 
James E. Cahill 
Frederick S. Campanini 
Anthony Cardell 
Joseph R. Cassely 
Natale A. Centofante 
Pietro Colaguori 



IN THE WORLD WAR 



109 



Rosario Collura 
Frank J. Connolly- 
Elmer W. Cook 
Henry A. Cordes 
Alonzo Cottrell 
John E. Culkowski 
Joseph M. Curcio 
Matthew V. Curtin 
Frank Czajka 
Michael Daeschler 
Guisseppe Damato 
Harvey R. Dash 
Louis F. Denier 
James J. Diskin 
John E. Donohue 
Harry Effingham 
William J. Ellison 
Patrick J. Feeney 
Elmer Fellows 
William H. Fielding 
Jacob J. Fischer 
Joseph Formes 
Albert P. Frey 
William E. Furlong 
Julius Gaier 
Edward F. Glenn 
Israel Goldberg 
Joseph F. Goodwin 
Joseph G. Greenberg 
Edward G. Gress 
Carl E. Griffin 
Charles F. Hallock 
Max Halpern 
George Hauber 
James J. Healey 
Loran L. Heiple 



Fred Henne 
Louis R. Heymer 
Joseph L. Hill 
Harold E. Holly 
Eugene P. Hughes 
Charles A. Hunterbrink 
William Jacobi 
Alexander Janicki 
Charles W. Johnson 
Albert B. Kane 
Jay B. Karnes 
Henry Kilbourn 
Edward W. Kindt 
John G. Kitson 
Stanley E. Klosiak 
William Koegel 
Paul Keyes 
Antoni Kopec 
Walter Krygier 
Alexandre Kuczkowski 
Irving W. Lander 
Fred C. H. Lange 
Harry LaVigne 
Joseph Ledwin 
Cyril T. Leonard 
William G. Long 
Adam J. Lush 
James E. Mackley 
Boleslau Makowiecki 
Salvatore Martocci 
Walter W. McAslan 
Norman McCumber 
James C. McMahon 
William C. McMahon 
John C. Meister 
John Merc 



Michael J. Miller 
Angelo Morelli 
Thomas J. Murphy 
Rinehart J. Neuffer 
William H. Norton 
James M. O'Ccnnell 
John J. O'Gara 
William E. O'Neill 
John J. O'Reilly 
Lawrence R. Peterson 
Michael Picciano 
Frank Pitarro 
Lory L. Price 
Thomas P. Reed 
John J. Renski 
Otto R. Richter 
Eugene Riess 
Aniello Sasso 
Jacob Schiefer 
Louis Sciancalepore 
Michael A. Schwenk 
John L. Sullivan 
Jan Suwalski 
John Szymczak 
Sebastiano Taras 
Gustave Tauber 
William K. Vafiadis 
Frani Viscuso 
Nicholas Vorta 
Claude L. Williams 
John Williams 
Herbert McK. Willmore 
Henry B. Wise 
Michael Zanni 
Frank Ziefski 



JOINED OVERSEAS 

From Other Units of the 311th Infantry 



Frank W. Clark 
Karl K. Heisler 



Oscar Albitz 
John A. Anderson 
John A. Awe 
Hazar Barsamian 
Joseph Benzschawel 
Peter Bloome 
Gust W. Bloomqulst 
Walter Boettcher 
Edward Borg 
Arthur F. Brand 
Carl M. Brenner 
Elijah E. Brown 
Peter E. Cantu 



John C. Lambert 
William F. O'Hara 

From 86th Division 

Charlie Carr 
Harry Closeman 
Joseph Congelosi 
Charles Corbine 
John Danielson 
Stanley Deleskie 
Joseph P. Dollard 
Walter A. Dreher 
Robert E. Edgerly 
Alfredo Ennocenti 
Albert C. Errickson 
Gustave F. Erlandson 
Norman W. Fay 



Elwood L. Sawyer 
Edward J. Sheridan 



Frank Ferrlans 
Othmar S. B. Gantert 
Paul E. Golling 
John Haegerl 
Otto C. Hagedorn 
Emil Hansen 
William A. Hardies 
John Hess 
Joseph Hillinski 
Harry H. Huntley 
Louis Janczjewski 
Erick P. Jern 
Carl E. Johnson 



110 



COMPANY B, 311TH INFANTRY, 



Lloyd F. Johnson 
Oscar E. Johnson 
Emil B. Josephson 
Leon L. Kahn 
Ignatius S. Kapacius 
John J. Kapala 
John S. Kazmierczak 
Leandrew T. Kelley 
Herman G. Koehler 
Theodore A. Koster 
Joseph E. Kronhelm 
Peter W. Kropidlowski 
Carl A. Kuecker 
George Kunferman 
Will J. Lammert 
Phillip J. Larkin 
Olaf A. Larson 
Oscar L. Larson 
Edward A. Leitzke 
Arnold W. Lent 
Kittel N. Letmolee 
John A. Lineski 



Rocco Lotesto 
Emil A. Lueders 
William McDonald 
Christ Madsen 
William P. Magaski 
Frank J. Marcinkiewicz 
Charles H. Martin 
Lewis N. Mergan 
John W. Morrison 
Robert A. Murphy 
Carl E. Nelson 
Otto Nelson 
Sander O. Ness 
Carl L. Ohrn 
Imbert A. Ovrid 
Arthur F. W. Pankow 
Elmer J. Peterson 
William G. Pitzrick 
Joseph J. Przyczkowski 
Leslie L. Rasmussen 
John Ratkiewcus 
George I. Riedel 



John F. Riskey 
Sabastiano Sapienza 
George Schreiner 
Jack Schmidt 
Walter S. Siems 
Anton F. Smogola 
Martin J. Sokoloski 
John Spensberger 
John Stankiewicz 
Frank H. Stuhser 
William Sullivan 
Ignatz W. Sv.'italsKi 
Bernard Tarlack 
John C. Tatoian 
Lewis W. Ullrich 
Friedrich G. Vieths 
Reuben Vrieze 
Carl L. Wandry 
Gust V. Westlund 
Julius Wekony 
Albert J. Worsfold 



Anthony Accetturo 
Frank C. Allen 
Harry R. Broomhall 
Levi C. Cowser 
Earl B. Clark 
Harry Lee Cole 
Newton C. Ashlock 
Clarence R. Cobble 
Wilbert A. Eastman 
Morris F. Fergus 
Max Goodman 
Roy L. Hoeck 
George J. Kreiner 
Julius Lipowsky 
John G. Lawton 
William D. Limbert 



Miscellaneous 

Oscar Mandinach 
Max Moroshick 
Sam Meltzer 
Louis A. Maske 
Paul Morath 
James P. McGuire 
Harry E. North 
Jacob Pushner 
Fred Richman 
Achille Ranalletta 
Alfred Schmid 
Jacob I. Sobol 
Jasper Stringfield 
Maurice Shipman 
Will Sanders 
Leon J. Sheridan 



John Scory 
Walter G. Schmidt 
Raymond A. Soldner 
William G. Storck 
James E. Smith 
Martin L. Schultz 
David Tannenbaum 
John F. Tietje 
Gilbert W. Vermette 
Walter R. Wallace 
Nathan Weinstein 
Benjamin Wolotkin 
George C. Wolff 
Raymerd Wheeler 
Kajetan Zenzian 
Dan C. Z. Zallace 



NUMBER OF OFFICERS AND MEN IN THE COMPANY BY STATES 



Original Company 



State 

Alabama 

California 

Colorado 

Connecticut 

Illinois 

Indiana 

Iowa 

Kansas 

Maryland 

Massachusetts 

Michigan 

Minnesota 

Nebraska 

New Jersey 

New Mexico 

New York 

Ohio 

Oregon 

Pennsylvania 

South Carolina .... 

Tennessee 

Texas 

Wisconsin 

Canada 

Unknown 

Total 



Officers 



Men 



115 

100 

6 

1 

232 
232 



Replacements 

Officers Men 

1 1 

1 

1 

30 
1 
1 
1 



1 
1 

23 
1 
S 
1 

17 



1 
2 
3 

37 

140 

1 

17 

158 



NUMBER OF CASUALTIES IN THE COMPANY 



Officers Men 

Killed in Action 1 35 

Died of Wounds 1 12 

Died of Disease 

2 47 

Wounded in Action 1 83 

Accidentally Wounded d 

Gassed 10 

Missing in Action 1 22 

Total — all classes 4 168 



LIST OF CASUALTIES 



1st Lieut. 
Roy A. Schuyler 

Sergeants 
Lehy, Howard C. 
Newell, Clendedon S. 
Newell, James McC. 
Schelter, John D. 

Corporals 
Apicelli, Joseph 
Weidman, John C. 
Wolcott, George T. 

Pvts. 1st Class 
Butler, William G. 



1st Lieut. 
William S. Lahey 

Mechanics 
Farry, Lester E. 
Tuthill. George L. 

* Reported missing 



KILLED IN ACTION 

Deleskie, Stanley 
Effingham, Harry 
Erlandson, Gustave F. 
Hansenberger, John G. 
Laurencell, Harry J. 
Lykes, James H. 
Schreiner, George 
Schultz, Walter 
Slover. Luke E. 
. Sullivan, John L. 

Privates 
Arcuri, Carmine 
Burchell, Harold E. 
Cahill, James E. 

DIED OF WOUNDS 

Pvts. 1st Class 
*Ackerman, William B. 
Burke, John F. 

Privates 
Ellison, William J. 
Erickson, Albert C. 
in action. 



Cantu, Peter E. 
Cole, Harry L. 
Dollard, Joseph P. 
Hardies, William A. 
Kindt, Edward W. 
Koegel. William 
Koehler, Herman G. 
Kropidlowski, Peter W. 
Makowiecki, Boleslau 
O'Hara, William F. 
Stuhser, Frank H. 
Vorta, Nicholas 
Worsfold, Albert J. 
Zanni, Michael 



Kahn, Leon L. 
Kuczkowski, Alexandre 
Lietzke, Edward A. 
Maske, Louis A. 
Morath, Paul 
Taras. Sebastiano 



Sergeant 
Rogers, George H. 

Cooks 
deBruin, Walter 
Sculthorpe, Harold 



GASSED 

Pvts. 1st Class 
Amann, Walter G. 
Centofante, Natale A. 
Chiaradio, Samuel E. 
Cordes, Henry A. 



O'Reilly, John J. 

Privates 
Hughes. Eugene P. 
Limbert, William D. 



Corporal 
Jones, James E. 



ACCIDENTALLY WOUNDED 

Pvts. 1st Class 
Barnes, Earl 
Campanini, Frederick S. 
Fleischmann, Gustave E. 



Privates 
Damato, Guisseppe 
Magaski, William P. 



2nd Lieut. 
Henry M. Merrill 

1st Sergeant 
Charles A. Robbins 

Sergeants 
Fahey, Joseph H. 
Hill, Joseph L. 
Sweeney. Hugh J. 
Welsh, Edward J. 



WOUNDED IN ACTION 

Corporals 
Congelosi, Joseph 
Hauber, George 
Heck, George W. 
Larkin, Phillip J. 
McGarrity, Joseph R. 
Morris, L. P. Morton 
Skillen, Edmund S. 
Williams, John 
Wolley. Harry T. 



Woolley, James B. 

Mechanics 
Wandry, Carl L. 
Willett, Cornelius 

Buglers 
Winemiller, Robert B. 
White, Henry R. 



IN THE WORLD WAR 



113 



Pvts. 1st Class 
Chiaradio, Samuel E. 
Ely, Eugene 
Feeney, Patrick J. 
Freedman, Sam 
Harriss. Raymond L. 
Henne, Fred 
Huston, Henry L. 
Johnson, Carl E. 
Kaufman, Isidore 
Kuecker, Carl A. 
McAslau, Walter W. 
Malone, Edward M. 
Nelson, Carl E. 
O'Rourke, Bernard J. 
Pilarski. Walter E. 
Siems, Walter S. 
Webb, William M. 

Privates 
Annibalini, Aldo 
Baiano, Carraelo 
Barsamian, Hazar 



Bogucki, Stanley F. 
Boucher, Joseph A. 
Brenner, Carl M. 
Brooks. Bertrand G. 
Cook, Elmer W. 
Curcio, Joseph M. 
Curtin, Matthew V. 
Czajka, Frank 
Danielson, John 
Diskin, James J. 
Donohue, John E. 
Fielding, William H. 
Formes, Joseph 
Furlong, William E. 
Gaier, Julius 
Goldberg, Israel 
Hallock, Charles F. 
Heiple, Loran L. 
Heymer, Louis R. 
Huntley, Harry H. 
Jacobi, William 
Janczjewski, Louis 



Janicki, Alexander 
Johnson, Charles W. 
Johnson, Oscar E. 
Klosiak, Stanley E. 
Krygier, Walter 
Lange, Fred. C. H. 
Larson, Olaf A. 
LaVigne, Harry 
Ledwin, Joseph 
Lent, Arnold W. 
McCumber, Norman 
McGuire. James P. 
McMahon, James C. 
Mackley, James E. 
Mero, John 
Neuffer, Rinehart J. 
Ovrid, Imbert A. 
Przyczkowski, Joseph J. 
Renski, John J. 
Sasso, Aniello 
Switalski, Ignatz W. 
Vafiadis. William K. 



1st Lieut. 

Herbert R. Vanderbilt 

Sergeant 
Hayden, Alexander M. 

Corporal 
Sutton, Lewis Z. 

Mechanic 
Thompson, George M. 



§ MISSING IN ACTION 

Pvts. 1st Class 
Benzing, John M. 
$Cocker, Herbert M. P. 
Mouser, Charles J. 
O'Connell, James M. 
tO'Gara, John J. 
Pitarro, Frank 
Price. Lory L. 
Ryan, William H. 



Privates 
Bernhard, John 
Birk, William 
Bishop, Joseph 
Blount, George L. 
Lang, Joseph J. 
Lush, Adam J. 
Picciano, Michael 
Schiefer, Jacob 
Tauber, Gustave 
Warner, Theodore H. 
Ziefski, Frank 

§ Taken prisoners and were released after the signing of the armistice, 
t The writer was unable to learn what became of Cocker. 
t Reported wounded. 



MEMBERS OF COMPANY "B," 311TH INFANTRY WHO WERE DECORATED 
WITH THE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE CROSS. 



FIRST SERGEANT, CHARLES A. ROBBINS. 

On September 2 6, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, two kilometers 
northeast of Vieville-en-Haye, Sergeant Robbins, although painfully wounded 
in the knee, during advance, he continued to the objective, rendered valuable 
assistance in reorganizing his company and refused to retire until ordered to do 
so by Company Commander. He thereupon helped to carry several other 
wounded to the First Aid Station before his own condition was observed and 
he was evacuated. 

FIRST SERGEANT, TRACY S. WHITE. 

For extraordinary heroism in action near Ferme des Loges, France, 19th 
October, 1918. When the position his company held was enfiladed and com- 
munication to the rear cut off, he volunteered to carry a message to the bat- 
talion commander after several runners had been killed in the attempt. Cross- 
ing ground swept by intense machine gun and artillery fire, he delivered the 
message and returned with orders as to the disposition of the company. 

SERGEANT, JOSEPH H. FAHEY. 

On September 2 6, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, two kilometers 
northeast of Vieville-en-Haye, when his platoon was enfiladed by several enemy 
machine guns, made three attempts to rush same, retiring only when he and his 
companions had been badly wounded or killed. 

Sergeant Fahey was also decorated with the French Croix de Guerre. 

SERGEANT, EDWARD J. WELSH. 

On September 24, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, two kilometers north- 
east of Vieville-en-Haye, v/hile his platoon was holding the outpost line, under 
heavy shell fire and in the open. Sergeant (then Corporal) Welsh's platoon 
commander and all platoon sergeants were killed or wounded. He promptly 
took charge, reorganizing his platoon, and held his sector until relieved. 

PRIVATE 1st CLASS, JOSEPH S. ALDRIDGE, JR. 

On the night of September 24-2 5, 1918, at Bois de Grande, Fontaine, two 
kilometers northeast of Vieville-en-Haye, Pvt. 1st Class Aldridge carried mes- 
sages repeatedly between Company and Battalion Headquarters through a 
heavy enemy barrage; also took place of a wounded litter bearer and brought 
in wounded under shell fire. 

PRIVATE 1st CLASS, LUKE E. SLOVER, JR. (Deceased). 

On the night of September 24-2 5, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, two 
kilometers northeast of Vieville-en-Haye, Private 1st Class Slover carried 
messages repeatedly between Company and Battalion Headquarters through a 
heavy enemy barrage; also took place of a wounded litter bearer and brought 
in wounded under heavy shell fire. 



MEMBERS OF COMPANY "B," 311TH INFANTRY MENTIONED IN 
78TH DIV ISION GENERAL ORDERS NO. 6 



EXTRACT: "The Division Commander desires to record in the General 
Orders of the 78th Division some of the deeds of men of this command which 
were marked by the display of the highest of soldierly qualities— initiative, 
dauntless courage, self-sacrifice and steadfast devotion to duty which offered a 
constant inspiration to all who came to have knowledge thereof and which con- 
tributed largely, in the aggregate, to the success of the division's operations 
against the enemy." 

1st LIEUT. ROY A. SCHUYLER, (Deceased) 

On September 26, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, after holding outpost 
line with his platoon for three days under continuous shell fire, without shelter 
and under most trying weather conditions on being ordered to advance, led his 
men with most conspicuous gallantry through a heavy barrage, took his 
objective, reorganized his command, where, while posting men in observation 
in front of his position, with utmost disregard of his personal safety, he was 
killed. 

2nd LIEUT. RAYMOND B. DUNN. 

On September 26, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, advanced with his 
platoon through heavy enemy barrage; after heavy losses joined company at 
objective with remaining five men, showing great coolness and courage in 
organizing and defending new position under fire. 

SERGEANT WILLIAM M. REID. 

On September 26, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, after his platoon 
leader was killed, took command of platoon and handled same most gallantly 
and efficiently, repulsing two enemy counter-attacks. 

SUPPLY SERGEANT JOSEPH LEVY. 

On September 26, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, exhibited continuous 
gallantry in action. Several times he brought up ration parties through heavy 
shell fire to the outpost line. During enemy counter attacks he assisted com- 
pany commander to reorganize right flank of company. 

CORPORAL JOSEPH R. McGARRITY. 

On September 24. 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, when his platoon 
leader and sergeants were killed or wounded, assisted Corporal Welsh to re- 
organize his platoon under heavy shell fire, and to hold position until relieved. 

PRIVATE LORY L. PRICE. 

On September 26, 1918, at Bois de Grande Fontaine, being posted to cover 
his company's left flank with his automatic rifle, held his post under heavy 
shelling and machine gun and rifle fire and was mainly responsible for repulsing 
repeated enemy counter-attacks from 6:00 A. M. to 6 P. M. He thus set for his 
comrades a remarkable example of devotion to duty and cool and unhesitating 
self-sacrifice. 



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